The Greatest Trophy of the Revolution
by Sopih
Summary: Republic City falls to the revolution, and the Avatar marries its leader. Darkfic; began as Amorra, metamorphosed into a counter-revolution fic.
1. ONE

**WARNING: **this fic should have had this warning from the very start; it contains non-con. **Trigger warnings** for rape, emotional and physical abuse. This wasn't intended to be a romantic fic, guys. I wrote it in the aftermath of an abusive relationship, which I've only begun to come to terms with recently, and I intend to go back and rewrite it to remove anything gratuitous or fetishy. This may not happen for a while, because of the personal difficulty involved.

It's okay to have a non-con fetish. I do, and I have been in an abusive relationship. Those two things are largely separate; I had the fetish before the relationship, and I still do now. I intend to write a more fetishy set of one-shots and some point and upload them separately, so there's no confusion between the plot-line of this fic and the fetish elements that can be drawn from it.

Abuse is not romantic. If you consider this fic to be a love story, or Amon to be tragically misunderstood, you might want to read up on rape culture, and abuse.

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I am on tumblr as **wherehaveallthecowboysgone.**

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**ONE**

Korra stared into the mirror, steeling herself not to snap. _You have to be brave_, she told herself. It felt like she'd been brave for an unbearably long time, though, in the aftermath of the revolution. Everything had come crashing down on her head. They just hadn't been strong enough to beat the Equalists, in the end._ You have to be brave, because you know who he has; you know… you know…_

"If you cry and ruin this make-up, I'll have them beat you," the young Equalist doing her hair growled, looking at her with loathing. "I'm not interested in your fucking pity fest." She yanked on Korra's hair viciously, and Korra bit her lip to keep herself from crying out. An old urge to smash everything and beat the pulp out of the non-bender reared its head. She smothered it reluctantly, trying to ignore the pang of longing. In the new regime, her confidence had shrunken. It re-emerged every so often, a relic of a better time. It would be so satisfying to retaliate, but she knew who would suffer for it.

"If it was up to me," the Equalist continued, her expression hateful, "I'd have just left you to die. Unfortunately for you _and_ me, I'm not the leader." She leaned in, right close to Korra's face, and stared at their reflected form. The golden edging of the ornate antique framed them both, a picture from a nightmare story-book.

"Time to go get married, Avatar."

* * *

The ceremony was ludicrously lavish and busy for the ruined city. Crowds of people milled with champagne glasses, making polite conversation about nothing. The Avatar was marrying Amon… how nice the weather had been recently, hadn't it? The sky had cleared from the smoke and skeletons of the fight, that much was true, Korra thought bitterly as she waited behind a stage curtain, plush and red, to be revealed in all her glory. Where had all the money for this come from? It seemed that Equalists were in less dire straits than they had claimed…

She felt utterly sick in the colours of her enemy. Her strength gathered, she'd screamed for a blue dress, beat the walls and attacked her guards over it. Anything to make one last stand, to hold onto the remnants of her culture. Amon himself had come to see her about it. He'd seemed to be actually enjoying it, insofar as that monster could emote at all. Pleased to see her lose control so much, probably. The fact that all she had to fight over now was her own choice of clothing must have delighted him.

Korra's sweaty hands smoothed down her starched dress, and her fingers tapped nervously against the embroidery. She couldn't look at herself, so sapped of colour. Perhaps there was still time. Perhaps she could kill herself. Escape was a far-off dream. Covert glances told her that there were four guards waiting around; even with her bending gone—her precious, missing bending—she could take them out with the hand-to-hand combat she knew. The others would die, but maybe that was for the best. Was any of this worth living for? They were locked up, they weren't living as human beings should. It would be a kindness to put all of them out of their misery.

If she was going to do it, she had to decide soon. She almost cried then and there to have to be thinking about killing herself and her friends as a mercy, and her courage nearly faltered at the first hurdle. If only she had a little more time to gather her courage and steel herself, then she could do it. It seemed so senseless to have that knock-on effect on the _children_, who'd barely even got a life, although it had been a happy she didn't have the time—

A heavy hand settled around her shoulder. She nearly threw up at the shock to her taut nerves, hands curling into fists. Amon's mask looked down at her, smooth and emotionless. He'd won. This was his victory, this event. In the aftermath of the fight for Republic City, the benders had lost, and Amon had won, and when they'd found the Avatar underneath a pile of rubble, barely still breathing, he'd decided it wasn't enough to win. He was going to take the very symbol of benders the world over and… Korra didn't know. Humiliate her? Control her? He could have tortured her (though in reality he had without ever laying a finger on her, her fragile state of mind testified to it) or killed her, but he _hadn't_. Why was he _marrying_ her?

"You look lovely," he said, his words dripping with self-satisfaction. "It's a shame that you couldn't wear your own colours, but…I'm sure you understand, Avatar." He still called her 'Avatar'. She was dreading the moment when he'd say her name. She didn't want her name to come out of that filthy man's mouth. "Mute? Well, just as long as you say the words when I require to… you're well aware of the consequences if you don't."

She choked down her fear and steadied herself as the fanfare began and the people quietened. This was not the place to cry and throw up. She couldn't do that here, or they'd be punished. For the next hour or so, just the next hour, Korra had to be made of steel. There would be time afterwards to accept the reality of the situation. Amon's hand went from her shoulder to her waist, settling on her hip, and she looked at the floor. He offered her his other hand to be held in front of them, to place them in a traditional Earth Kingdom bridal stance, and she resolutely ignored it. Turning his head to face forwards, he simply grabbed her hand and held it in a bruising grip. His callused, work-hardened fingers dug into hers like a cage.

The curtain rose, and the Avatar and the Equalist stepped out onto the stage.

* * *

Korra couldn't remember much from the ceremony afterwards. It was a blur of sickness, lurching from one moment to another—congratulations for the happy couple!—wasn't the Avatar ever so quiet; mute from happiness, perhaps—it was so _good_ to see the union of benders and Equalists at last, they were the finest match—would the Avatar like a little to drink?—she seemed rather pale. At some point in the mess, Korra acquired multiple glasses of champagne. She could see Amon's perfect, controlled exterior crack for a second through the mask as his eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, and she decided that she deserved another drink.

More faces blurred past, people she didn't know, people she didn't care about, stinking vultures coming forward to fill the gap of the old power; Tarrlok somewhere in the middle oozing up to them to remind Amon of his role in the revolution. Amon physically restrained her from leaping at him. The cruel hold on her wrist turned from pressure to pain.

By the time she was spilling drinks on herself, Amon was visibly displeased. Korra no longer had any idea what time it was, only that this was becoming absolutely unbearable. She was going to snap if it went on for much longer. The effort of keeping her mouth shut had become herculean, and her jaw ached from the stress of grinding her teeth. Amon's hand on her hip was the only thing still anchoring her to the earth, overly hot and tight and possessive on her skin. "Behave," he murmured, leaning down very close to her ear. "Conduct yourself with at least minimal dignity, Avatar."

"Leave me alone," she moaned, feeling tears well up in her eyes, much to her dismay. "Why do you have to do this to me? Haven't you done enough? Haven't you already got everything?"

He regarded her strangely dispassionately, someone flickering for a second in his eyes. "Not quite," he replied, nodding to an acquaintance or a guest, "but if you wish, we can retire for the night."

"I can't stand any more of this."

"As you wish, Avatar," he said distantly, beckoning over the Lieutenant with his free hand. He gave a few orders that Korra missed entirely in her miserable fugue state, and took her hand again. Her sweaty palm rested uncomfortably in his easy grip.

They made their way to the platform, where a mic had been set up. The Lieutenant waited off at the side, looking odd in his wedding finery. Korra remembered distantly the times she'd fought him, the hedonistic joy in fighting with all her heart and soul against someone who would kill her if they could. Her hands twitched, remembering the forms, and she ached with the distant but utterly unforgettable memory of bending.

"People of Republic City," Amon announced, the quiet spreading from the platform with ease and control. He was using his public speaking voice, charismatic and personal. Korra had never been able to gain the easy charisma of Avatar Aang, that effortlessness with people; she was rough and abrasive and cocky. Back when she had been able to, anyway. "I thank you for attending our union tonight. I hope that we have shown you that people who were benders and non-benders can exist in harmony in our new city, our new world. Let our union be a message to the people who were not here tonight; the era of bending is over. The era of equality begins!" The audience, murmuring assent, burst into applause at the crux of his speech; some who had been sitting down rose to their feet with enthusiasm. Korra wondered sceptically how much of it was genuine hate for benders, and how much of it was faked to show their enthusiasm for the new people in charge. "We regret to leave you early tonight, but my wife"—she all but shuddered at that, but managed to keep herself steady, just—"has asked to retire, and I would like to get our marriage off to a smooth start." The ripple of laughter across the room made her jaw clench. Amon leaned in, his hand tightening on her hip, and hissed, "_Smile_." From somewhere, she managed to summon up a weak, bashful smile that she expected to convince nobody, and the audience cooed accordingly. "Please, do justice to the banquet, and goodnight."

The applause tided them out of the room, walking at a stately, elegant pace. Korra wanted nothing more than to flee like a wounded animal, gathering her viciously bruised pride. At last Amon removed his hands, stopped touching her, and the sense of nausea receded considerably. "You performed tolerably tonight," he said, striding ahead into the darkened corridor, lined with guards. She followed after a moment, walking behind him as they passed through one of the hidden doors dotted around in the labyrinthine mansion. "Only tolerably, however. In future, you are to embarrass neither yourself nor me further with consumption of alcohol, have I made myself clear? In public, we are to be the happy couple, regardless of what loathing you regard me with in private. You are aware of the consequences if you don't comply." He turned back, and she nodded mutinously, holding her beloved people in her head to stop her doing something rash.

They were in an area that she hadn't seen before, though the house as a whole was unfamiliar and strange. She'd been confined to one room for weeks. It must be one of the more secretive areas; there was no luxurious carpet here, no tapestries and portraits on the walls. There weren't even any windows.

Amon opened one of the few doors with movements that were too fast for her to register. It made a hideous clicking noise that boded ill, and she only moved forward when he beckoned. "Welcome to my quarters," he said, pushing down his hood and beginning to unbutton his elaborate jacket.

Korra remained by the door, which had shut with an ominously heavy click. She didn't dare try the handle. "I… don't understand," she said uncertainly, fiddling with a stray thread on her dress. The nausea from before was returning threefold, eating away at her. She'd… she hadn't really thought this far ahead. She'd assumed that the marriage was a sham, just for appearances, and that she'd return to her cell after the ceremony was done. Surely Amon didn't intend to try and keep her _with_ him…

He was looking at her, the tiniest curl of his mouth betraying derisive amusement. "You understand how a marriage works, Avatar. You are young, but not so naïve?" Sitting down on a plain chair askance from a desk burdened with neat piles of papers, he removed his shoes carefully and placed them beside it. "You must know that one of the basic tenets of matrimony is that husband and wife live together."

"But this isn't a real marriage," Korra said, her head spinning with panic and drink. "This is a show. This is about a union of benders and non-benders—it's fake—"

"I assure you that we were genuinely married tonight." He stood up abruptly, walked towards her. Her first instinct was to run. It muddled in her head and all she managed was to hit the door, which _shocked_ her. Involuntarily, Korra cried out, sinking to the floor. Above all, she must not cry. She _must not cry_. "Now, now," he said, lifting her limp form. She hated the feeling of his hands on her. They stirred an ugly, deep, wounded hatred. "This room is completely secure." He deposited her on the bed in the centre of the room, her limbs sprawling across the covers. "Rest assured that your chances of successful escape are so minimal as to be pitiful."

"I hate you," she spat, slowly regaining control of her body.

Amon shrugged slowly, as if shaking off something. "You have little idea of the sentiments I harbour." He turned to her, his expression metamorphosing from its usual control into something twisted and angry. "I should have left you to die. It would have fulfilled our plans. Someone else would have found the body, and it would have been tragic that the Avatar had been a casualty of the revolution, something we had of course _never_ intended. But I could not leave you to die there," he said, leaning over her until his face was inches from hers. "Why is that? What have you done to me?"

Her wide blue eyes stared up into his, almost paralysed. Any confusion or fog had been burned away by terror. "I haven't done anything to you," she croaked, hating the fear cracking her voice apart. If she still had her bending, she'd _destroy_ him. She'd burn him until nothing was left. If she still had her bending…

"Don't lie to me," he growled, gripping her upper arms in a bruising hold. "I haven't been able to stop thinking of you since the first time I saw you. You have been _haunting me_. But," he said, leaning back up and letting out a disturbingly jovial chuckle, "I won. You're mine, now, the greatest trophy of the revolution. Our match should produce one or two children, to show the masses a happy family, and if you show yourself to be obedient I might even let you take up some pursuits of your own… painting, perhaps. Embroidery. Pursuits that suit your status." He rolled away fully for a moment, removing his shirt to show a well-muscled chest, and folded it over a nearby chair. "This marriage will be consummated whether you're willing or not, Avatar… Korra, I should say."

Hearing her name out of that man's mouth finally galvanised her from panic into blind action. She physically threw herself off the bed, acting out of sheer adrenaline, aiming for the door—maybe if she hit it really, really hard it would break, maybe she could knock Amon out, this was just too horrible to even be happening, it couldn't be happening—

An arm slammed around her middle as she dashed, the room suddenly seeming to have elongated, and all the air left her body in a sickening thump. Letting instinct take over, she slammed her feet into just below his knee, managed to get one hit in the back of the knee in her wild flailing. She heard a grunt of surprise as his leg buckled, but the pincers around her stomach refused to open. Sucking in air to try and regain her strength, she reached back blindly for the eyes—_go for the eyes —_only to have her hands caught in a vice-like grip.

Korra was bodily flipped over, her tailbone hitting the floor excruciatingly. Winded _again_, exhausted from the sheer strain of the day catching up to her, she lay there on the cold, hard ground and felt the tears well up in her eyes. Amon straddled her, her legs pinned to the floor, hands held above her head. He looked down at her with an expression that was half irritation and half excitement. "That was ill advised," he murmured, lifting her up and tossing her towards the bed. "Who shall I punish for your transgressions? The firebender? The earthbender? Perhaps later… but not tonight.

"Tonight is for us, Korra."


	2. TWO

I was so delighted and pleased and overjoyed with all the feedback so I decided ~why not do a second update this weekend~. After all, I've now begun chapter ten, so I've got a good amount of chapters to update before I run out and catch up with my tumblr. I am also very flattered because to be honest guys, reading back chapter one I went "ooh erk this is a bit wobbly in places, it gets much better".

So here is your surprise weekend update, and _then_ we will stick to my tried and tested schedule of every three days.

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**TWO**

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She managed to nearly claw his eyes out, determined that it wouldn't be easy. The vicious scratch marks down one of his cheeks gave her great satisfaction until he retaliated later with his own nails, trimmed obsessively all to the same length. The scrapes on her shoulders were more like gouges; some of them were so deep that the touch of the fabric of the sheets was enough to make her wince. He'd only taken off the mask afterwards. Those eyes staring out from underneath the mask that had haunted her dreams were hideous. She hadn't been able to look at him. She hadn't been able to look at much, her eyes tightly shut. Slowly, clearly savouring it, he'd stripped her down to something base and small and afraid in the middle of the windowless room.

Everything hurt. Her skin felt scraped raw, as if he'd peeled back all the outer walls of her personality to leave the child underneath them blinking in the sudden light. She felt dirty. She felt brutalised.

The naivety and resulting shock of the night before had faded to a deep, dull throb in her chest. This wasn't even about bending; it wasn't about the revolution or taking revenge. It was a creepy personal obsession. That stirred up the faintest traces of real anger, smothered by careful adaption to her new environment. It was about a sadistic, twisted man who wanted power. He'd hurt her purposely to make her cry. It brought him pleasure.

Korra had been unable to sleep the whole night. His arm around her middle rendered it impossible. Instead, she lay, so tensely it was physically painful, turning over anger and despair and anger and numbness in her head. He was too close to her, the smell of sweat still clinging to him, to even contemplate falling asleep. She drifted in and out of consciousness for mere moments, thoughts blurring together in a way that was beginning to become familiar. She wasn't sure if it was the alcohol, the adrenaline burning off, or a mark of her slipping grip on reality. Every time she moved at all strongly, his grip on her would tighten. She couldn't tell whether he was asleep or not, or just so in control that he moved in his _sleep_.

Though she was sure that there was no way to tell what time it was in the room, Amon rose decisively all the same. His suddenly heavy inhale and exhale made her jump out of her stupor, one of her feet thudding against his shin in reflexive shock. Fearing retribution, she froze, but he only took another heavy breath in and removed his arm from around her waist. "Good morning," he drawled. He only sounded the slightest bit sleep clouded. "Did you sleep well?" Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he rose and stretched. The muscles in his back rippled and Korra watched with bile fascination, fear curling in her belly at a physical reminder of how strong he was.

"I asked you a question, Korra," he said levelly, turning back to her. She jumped. Was he… really going to do this? Was he going to pretend that they were an actual couple? Was it some kind of ploy to unsettle her?

"No," she said defiantly, lifting the covers over herself at his look. "I slept awfully."

He shrugged. "I asked you a polite question. Remember who suffers for your disobediences." Padding over to a door set in an alcove, he opened it and stepped through, leaving it ajar. The sound of running water filled the room and Korra looked around, for the first time genuinely taking it in. There wasn't much furniture and what there was present was spartan, old, well used. There was the desk, the chair with his shoes still next to it; one of the drawers was ever so slightly open, and none of them were locked. A tiny voice suggested filing that away for looking at later, and she quickly turned her gaze away in case Amon caught her looking.

The walls were draped in Equalist posters, some with Amon's own masked face on. _What a messed up thing to have on your bedroom walls_, she thought, scratching at her mussed hair and trying to comb it a little with her fingers. There was a chest of drawers as well, unusually tall. Did Amon even have that many clothes? He never seemed to change them. An uncomfortable thought occurred to Korra that in changing for the—the—last night, they'd finally taken away her old clothes. They had been ripped, dirtied and wrecked a thousand times over, but they'd been a memory of home, and Amon had ruined her dress; she could see it on the floor out of the corner of her eye, that hideous rip down the back making her own back pulse with for a second. She wouldn't wear Amon's clothes. She refused. But if it was a choice between that and nothing… her skin crawled. She'd take the clothes.

The rest of the room was largely space; the four poster bed, ridiculously ornate, was centre stage, and there was absolutely no mess. Even the piles of paper on the desk were neatly arranged in noticeable order. Korra guessed that Amon didn't spend that much time in here, but it didn't surprise her that he was compulsively well-ordered, somehow.

"Come here," he called from the bathroom, and Korra froze, startled out of her thoughts. Come here? Why? She didn't want to be anywhere near him ever again. Somewhere, the idea that she might have to deal with this for the rest of her life surfaced painfully and she shoved it away as fast as possible. "That was not a request. Come _here_." Blinking very quickly, she tumbled between stubborn resistance and fear, until he added, "If I must threaten you, remember that I have yet to decide the punishments for your loved ones. I don't tolerate insolence."

Digging her nails into her palms, she rose, her mouth set in a hard line. She took the sheet with her, trailing it across the floor with a soft, dull swishing noise. He was in the shower, the water still running, his hair trailing down the sides of his face. His unburned face. It was a mark of the revolting lies he'd told to the city that he had no burns at all; that tragic backstory had turned out to be a complete fabrication. She looked up. For a moment, she managed to hold his gaze. Without even registering his expression, anything at all, she dropped it as if _she_ had been burned.

"You need to wash," he said. "Put that sheet back on the bed. You look absurd dragging it around with you."

"Which first?" she muttered, her fingers tapping against her side nervously.

"Impudence is not an attractive trait. I thought perhaps solitary confinement had removed your astonishing ability for it. I see I thought wrong." She stared woodenly at the floor, all her effort going into not grinding her teeth until they shattered. "If you're really so incapable of deciding for yourself, put the sheet back on the bed, and then wash yourself."

"Whatever you say," she said mutinously, trailing back out again. For all her momentary bravado, it was a wrench to put the sheet down on the bed. It took a few moments of deep breathing to dump it in an unceremonious pile and walk back to the bathroom. It felt like worse than being naked… nakedness wasn't anything unpleasant, but here it made her feel… unclean. Small. Insignificant and dirty.

"Good," he said with evident satisfaction. She held onto Mako and Bolin, Tenzin and Pema, the children, Lin, all her people, and waited for him to move aside. No matter what, she wasn't stepping into that shower until he stepped out of it. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a lazy, cruel smile spread across his face. His movements languorous, he exited the shower and reached for a towel, eyes never leaving her.

Showering felt surprisingly good for the first few seconds. The water was refreshing on her skin, but she felt the ache of the absence of her bending return for a moment, sharp and insistent. To answer it, she turned up the heat of the spray until it burned her, taking some solace in the pain. Moving out of habit, she tried to sort out her hair, combing it through with her fingers some more until it was vaguely unknotted. The rest of her was a different matter. She found some soap, a lumpy, horrible bar of it, and a flannel which felt like it was made of sandpaper. At first, she rubbed tentatively, wincing at how rough it was; after a while she sank into lethargic thought, her hand moving automatically. When she became aware of the stinging it was causing, she didn't stop. She pressed harder, biting her lip, a well of grief spilling up out of her chest into a pained hiccup of a sob that she couldn't take back.

Aghast, Korra pressed a hand against her mouth, looking wide-eyed towards the door. To her dismay, Amon stood there, leaning against the door frame. He'd donned a pair of loose trousers identical to his usual attire but nothing else, and his gaze was directed levelly at her. The expression on his face was utterly unreadable. Uncomfortably, her arms crossed across her chest, she looked back.

All he was said was, "As long as you don't scar, scrub as much as you wish. I'm in your skin." He said no more and simply remained in the doorway. Korra, with what was becoming the ease of practice, swallowed a sob and summoned up her courage. She stepped out, unwilling to stand there for his amusement. A tiny seed of rebellion cracked open in the heat of her determination.

She grasped a towel and folded it around herself as quickly as possible, carefully avoiding the gouges on her back. Though she knew it was ridiculous, the scrap of fabric made her feel safer. When she had brought forth the bravery to look at him again, he had gone. Korra glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Cautiously, she settled her expression into something neutral, twisting her lips until she could rest her mouth in something other than a grimace.

As she'd feared, a pair of Amon's own clothes lay on the bed, set out just as neatly as everything else in the damn room. Thoughtfully, she stared at them, and with reluctance decided to pick her battles. Where were her underclothes, though? Surely he wasn't expecting her to go without them, but they weren't on the floor. She couldn't remember what had happened to them… then, that time, and she didn't want to try and remember either. She sure as hell wasn't going to be asking Amon where they were. It would be giving in. She wanted as little direct contact with him as possible.

Unable to suppress a scowl, she lifted the dark shirt first, pulling it over her head. It was laughably large, stretching down to mid-thigh. The trousers were worse, already generous on Amon. She felt oddly drowned in his clothes, his _smell_ surrounding her. Experimentally, she lifted a leg up and the trousers slid down until she doubted her ability to walk without tripping. Everything was so strange without her underclothes as well. For one of the few times in her life, she was uncomfortably aware of her breasts. He couldn't have been as petty as to hide her underclothes, could he? It seemed unusually trivial for a dictator.

She did the best she could to try and make herself more comfortable in them, tucking the trailing ends of the shirt into the trousers, and rolling the trousers up. It would be too humiliating for her to bear if she tripped. Evidently, he wasn't going to gift her with shoes. While he moved around the room, pulling a shirt over his head and pulling last night's jacket from the chair, she sat on the bed and waited. After a moment, she sighed and lay down, nuzzling her head into the lumpy, uncomfortable pillow.

Lack of sleep was catching up with her. It couldn't hurt if she closed her eyes for a second, she was so _tired_… her nerves had been working overtime for hours trapped alongside Amon, and she needed rest if she was going to be able to think clearly. It was important to keep a clear head…

She couldn't have said why exactly, but her eyes flicked open to see Amon inches from her face. Instinctively, she gasped and scrambled away; her hands hit air and there was no time except for alarm as she fell hard onto the floor. Amon watched her dispassionately, putting on his mask, and his expressions were again veiled from her. Frowning at him from the floor, she couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not. It was horrible not knowing what was going on at all, having no inkling of what he was thinking except for what showed around his eyes, but seeing the smugness, his pleasure at her pain…. Neither of the two was better.

"Shall we pay your friends a visit, Avatar?" he said softly, not at all gently. She could only stare back, dread spreading through her as if it were running through her veins with her blood.

* * *

Of course he chose Mako and Bolin. That _bastard_. She knew the way now by the corridors, by the alcoves and the strange writing on the walls. They were going in the direction of Mako and Bolin, both of whom were housed at the end, separated by a thick stone wall. The times that she'd been taken to them before, they'd been brought into one room. It was a momentary reunion, joy that they were still alive, any hope and jubilance quickly crushed by what Amon or another Equalist would do.

Korra followed him in uneasily, hands fisted in the fabric of the trousers. Having them see her in his clothes… it was… in the scheme of things, she knew it wasn't important, but… She couldn't bear it if he told them. If he said what had happened—what he'd done to her— Of course he was going to tell them. It was how the filthy man worked. She gritted her teeth, fear solidifying into anger that threatened to consume her outwardly submissive appearance.

All the same, seeing them made her heart lift. She lifted her head to look at Mako, her chest constricting at how bad he looked but that relief resurfacing that he was still alive. Turning her head, she looked to Bolin. He offered her a small grin, and she tried to return it to lift his spirits. Her smile was full of glass. For a moment, the trio were reunited and that felt… good, despite the circumstances. She just wanted to reach out and touch them, for a second to hold their hands. All foolishness had been left behind in a sweeter, easier past. All that remained was genuine affection for what they'd been through.

It made it harder when he hurt them. Korra tried to settle her beating heart, irrationally worried that everyone would hear it, know how afraid she was. It didn't matter that she was afraid, but what she did with that fear. She had every right to be afraid, but she _couldn't let it take over_.

Mako was hauled forward first. She gave him the tiniest of smiles, gone in a flash, and he inclined his head ever so slightly—was he in pain? Was he even aware of what was going on?—to acknowledge it. Exchanges like that gave her a momentary sense of comfort, closeness, a feeling of connection with another human being. That feeling was something that she'd come to crave after weeks of solitary confinement while the last remnants of the last desperate battles raged above her head.

He looked bad, all the same. So _thin_, so _thin_. Had they fed him at all? Previously muscular, he looked as if he had receded and wasted away. His skin had an unhealthy greasy pallor to it, and she could still see the remains of bruises from last time. If she was remembering correctly, that was the last time that she'd refused to leave her cutlery neatly on the plate for the guards to take it away. It rankled so, so much, but she'd learned the hard way to sacrifice her pride. Cutlery was never, would never ever be worth hurting them.

"Good morning," Amon said, nodding to the other Equalists. They moved to the corner of the room. To keep things interesting for everyone, sometimes Amon would carry out the punishments himself and sometimes he would have others do it. "I assume you've been informed of the happy occasion, bender."

Mako raised his head indolently, nearly looking him in the eyes but not quite. "Happy occasion?" he asked, attempting to affect carelessness. His voice cracked horribly and nearly disappeared on the second word. Korra's heart beat even faster, and she dug her fingers into her—oh, his, _his_—trousers until she was hurting herself. Mako actually _looked_ at her for the first time, and she saw some of the dots connected in his mind. For an awful second, all she could feel was shame, deep, crawling shame. His frown was unbearable. "Happy occasion?" he repeated, sounding more awake and more wary. His eyes darted around the room, unnaturally wide and suspicious.

"I apologise for the news coming so late." Amon was revelling in this. She knew he was revelling in this. It was a victory for him. She blinked and for a second under her eyelids there were nails in her shoulders. Another blink and it was gone, but she couldn't help feeling unsettled. For a moment, Korra was out of step with the world and then it came rushing back slightly too quickly, as if everything was sped up. "Last night, the Avatar and I were married."

"Married?" Bolin said, his voice hoarse with disuse. "_Married_?" He looked from Korra to Amon, at her clothes, realisation dawning. "That's a lie. Korra would never marry _you_." Bile rose in her throat, anger at Bolin; it had happened, the evidence was right in front of him. Did he think that any of them had power anymore? Did he think that she would have refused, when Amon could have so easily killed either of them, any of her loved ones? Did he think that she would just let them _die_, for all her panicked thoughts about mercy killing?

"It's true," Amon replied. "Republic City's most upstanding citizens were invited. I presume you understand why you were not present." It was all a power game, she thought, a ridiculous power game. Amon just had to have power over them all; he had to have the last word, the ultimate one-up. "Unfortunately, Korra did not behave with the decorum accordant with her status. It's for that reason that we are gathered here currently." Bolin looked at her with pride. How did he still have that exuberance in him? A man whose emotions moved and twisted so easily from joy to tears, who drowned his sorrows with little provocation but forgave so easily, how had he not been crushed in the aftermath of the revolution? Korra couldn't look at him. She felt dirty. "For the problem of your consumption of alcohol, I think we'll start with the earthbender."

Korra could never choose whether it was disrespectful to their pain to switch off and distance herself while the violence began, or whether she could bear to see them brutalised for silly, foolish things that she'd done in the spirit of prideful rebellion. She looked away, her feelings of guilt rising as to be intolerable, and tried to decide what to do with her thoughts. They flitted aimlessly as the Equalists systemically, almost bored, went about their duty. She didn't even have a hangover this morning. Surely she should feel real pain for her actions, when Bolin was being punished for her inability to deal with the situation. She'd been weak for burying herself in alcohol. This was what it brought. She had to deal with everything, do better, just do better; she _couldn't_ have people suffering for what she did.

When Amon said, "That's enough," in that detached, careless tone, she looked back up again and made herself properly look at Bolin. His face brought her that real pain, but for some reason all she could after that see was his fingers. Two of them were warped and… mangled in a hideous way on his left hand. She remembered those hands moving and the earth rumbling with them, and her mouth twisted in a bitter, miserable line. "Next," Amon said slowly, as if he were genuinely considering it, "later behaviour in the bedroom." Her cheeks burned and her heart beat so fast that it felt as if it might genuinely burst out of her chest. Were they looking at her? Did they pity her? Were they angry? What if they were angry? What if they thought that she'd failed them?

She stole a quick look upwards, blinking rapidly to ensure that there were no tears in her eyes at all—she was the Avatar, she was a big girl, she needed to stop being so emotional just for a second turn off all the emotions—and caught Mako's eyes. As if burned, she looked back down instantly. Concern. Concern and anger. The anger couldn't be for her, she tried to convince herself. Mako couldn't be angry with her. Shouldn't. Mustn't. All the words seemed to ring false in her head however much she repeated them—nails in her shoulders, unable to breathe through the pillow, lungs constricting and panicking—she blinked, wiping the senses away, and this room came back.

"First transgression; first attempt at escape." He stepped forward himself and dealt a contemptuous blow to Mako, his metal gauntlets making the most awful noise on Mako's skin. With a movement that had far too much elegance for its purpose, he kicked Mako in the gut, sending him down onto the floor. Korra couldn't help but watch, her heart in her mouth, beating so erratically that she was worried it would stop altogether. She itched to intervene, ached to jump between them and take the blows instead. That was the whole point of this exercise. Retaliation came to someone else, something infinitely harder to deal with than personal punishment.

"Second transgression; fighting." He advanced as Mako fell back, trying to get back on his feet, trying to clamber back to his knees at least, failing each and every time underneath the blows. Bolin was watching too, straining perhaps unconsciously against the Equalist holding the tattered remains of his shirt collar. Korra took in the scene, beginning to feel further and further away from events, detached to the point of floating. When the room began to spin slightly, she wondered distantly if something might be wrong, and when everything went dark, her last thought before she was already conscious again was simply _huh_.

She was confused and disorientated for a moment to find herself in an utterly different position than she had been, searching for the last memory, which was of sickness clambering up through her body to her head and the blackness taking over. She blinked, and stared up at Amon's mask. Everyone hadn't really moved. She must have fainted. Had she been out for only seconds? How unfair. Even unconsciousness brought no real respite.

Amon would only see this as more weakness. _Good_, a voice whispered to her, _good_. Nobody moved as she looked up, still dazed, mildly concerned about the voices in her head. "Get up," he said harshly, and the ideas floating about disconnectedly in her head clicked. Painting a smooth expression on her face to cover the fire brewing, she slowly pulled herself up off the floor. Her head still span, and she exaggerated it, moving as slowly as possible to cover for the rapid thought taking place. _Act_, the voice whispered, returning, _act small. Make sure he thinks you're small. _Be_ small_. "Get _up_," he repeated.

Moving as if through tar, she put her hand on the cold stone of the wall, and pulled herself up. If she looked at Mako and Bolin now, she might get lost. She might lose herself in their concern and worry for her. Through the fear and shame came one clearer emotion; serious, intense anger. Anger felt unusual. Anger felt powerful. She pulled carefully on fear to make herself small, and clung onto the fury. "I'm up," she muttered, her voice coming through surprisingly clearly.

She was up, and the counter-revolution had been born.


	3. THREE

_Hello! Hello to everyone, the overwhelmingly lovely number of people who have this on alert, or have favourited it, or have reviewed, all readers, you are delightful and you make my everyday life about 40% happier. I hope this fic continues to please you._

_A note on chronology; I consider this to deviate from canon after episode six. Imagine that the revolution took place some time after that!  
_

* * *

**THREE**

* * *

He deposited her in the room alone before disappearing off without a word. Korra glanced towards the bed, overcome by exhaustion, and looked away almost instantly. Instead, she went to the bathroom and gathered an armful of towels, spreading them across the floor to create a make-shift bed. She curled up on it, making herself tiny, rearranging until she was at ease, and slept.

Several times, she awoke, disorientated, and went to sleep again. It felt like hours and hours passed, though she had no way of telling. She never saw Amon come back in that time, and slept... not comfortably, but well enough. When at last she awoke feeling not as if tar ran through her veins rather than blood, she stretched and sat up, rubbing at her eyes. First she put the towels back, and then she sat in the middle of the floor cross legged to plot the counter-revolution.

A sense of determination breathed through her. It was nearly impossible to hide it even in her relatively calm state. Regretfully, she thought that no matter how good it was to have hope, that hope was all very well if he found out. She was sure that he'd take particular pleasure in savagely crushing it. Korra had never been a very good actress, though. Her emotions were volatile and quick, anger and happiness and frustration chasing each other around her heart in seconds. The revolution had taught her some self-restraint, but it wasn't enough. She _knew_ that there was a lightness to her that hadn't been there before.

It was just… so strange to feel hope. The closest that she had come to this in weeks, months, however long it had been was when she saw the people she loved, and that was marred somewhat by the fact that she was seeing them only for Amon to hurt them. The heaviness and tiredness that she carried around with her at all times had only become evident as it lifted. This feeling was… nice, and she didn't know how long it would last.

At least she was alone for now, though it was in his damned rooms. If he saw her now like this she was sure that he'd know. The counter-revolution couldn't be stopped before it began. But, well, for now, while she still had a clear head and the determination, she needed to plan. She could feel the hope coursing through her, but she had to do something with it. There were such insurmountable odds against her.

There had been insurmountable odds against Aang as well, though. He had faced waking up in a world 100 years on from his own to face an entire nation, a team of people actively looking to hunt him from the very beginning, going undercover in that hostile nation as well. He'd won. Roku had fought his own best friend's deadly ambitions—oh, well, actually, Roku had died because of his best friend's deadly ambitions. That wasn't the… most uplifting example ever. Kyoshi! Kyoshi had fought a conqueror and created her own island. _That_ was uplifting! Kyoshi was Korra's favourite.

Katara had told her their story time and time again, showing her carvings and drawings to accompany it. The boy in the iceberg, who'd defeated the imperial Fire Nation at the age of 12… If only she could speak to Aang. She looked down at her hands, and turned them over restlessly in her lap. All those Avatars, all they'd done they'd done with their bending. They'd done it with their animal guides. Aang had his companions. And… none of them had ever had their bending taken away. Was she even an Avatar without her bending? How was she supposed to get along without Naga? She shifted restlessly, throwing herself across the floor. Aang had taken away Ozai's bending. Maybe there was a way to reverse the process.

Was the spiritual side of being the Avatar separate from the bending side? If she could get into the Avatar state, she would have all the Avatars there had ever been to help her. She'd have another Avatar who'd faced the overwhelming odds of being one person against the world. She'd have… human contact. Maybe someone who understood.

She'd never managed to get into the Avatar state, though; not even when she'd been angry or desperate, like she'd heard Aang had done. Over the years, she'd shrugged off the spiritual side of the Avatar duties; she was so _good_ at bending, and she had been young and there had been time to learn. Rolling over, she stared up at the ceiling.

For now, she was confined to these rooms with nothing to do with her plan. He intended to reduce her to nothing, to strip her of her confidence and break the Avatar. The ex-Avatar. That wouldn't be happening, she decided with confidence. All the same, an insidious uncertainty crept underneath everything else. He was… good at playing off people's weaknesses, spreading fear. And he was dangerous, and she was trapped with him. It wasn't going to be easy, but she could do it. First of all, she needed to work on the Avatar state, and getting out of these rooms.

Despite her bravado, she shuddered. To get out she'd need him to come back to let her out, and she dreaded seeing him again—heavy breathing, pains across her body—even if it meant freedom. He tapped into her fear like nobody else she had ever known. Ever since the very first time she'd seen him at the Rally, ever since she'd challenged him, he frightened her. Fear was allowed, she told herself. Aang must have been afraid of facing the Fire Lord, but he'd done it anyway. Admittedly, Aang hadn't been forced to marry the Fire Lord.

The door opened suddenly, and Korra sat up so quickly that her vision filmed over. Trying to blink it away, she saw through the black dots that he was in the doorway. She tensed, the overriding fear flooding back in an instant, but he calmly walked across the room. He even left the door open. Curious even through the fear, she frowned. A guard in full Equalist gear minus the head covering came through, bearing a large tray and looking extremely unhappy about it. Another followed, bearing what looked like… a small table and a couple of lightweight chairs. The two set up the table and an array of food as Amon placed some paper on the strange piles and strode into the bathroom. The sound of a tap running echoed around the main room.

Korra remained on the floor, having scuttled over to put her back against the chest of drawers for support. She itched to take those bastards out. It was too early, she told herself, he was too close, she had no way of ensuring the people she cared about would be safe or where Naga even was and she hadn't eaten in… she had no idea how long it had been with how long she'd been asleep, but not since the morning of the wedding. There were so many things that could go wrong. Grumpily, some part of her wondered when she'd started really thinking plans through and stopped just blasting everything. Probably when she'd lost her bending. That… changed you.

"Your meal, Avatar," the irritable Equalist said, making a sweeping gesture towards the table. His face was full of the typical loathing Equalists seem to reserve for her. She only looked at the table, hoping against hope that her stomach didn't rumble and reveal the total lie of carelessness she was trying to put on. Although it burned like fury to sacrifice her pride, she'd take dignity over it at this point. It got less people hurt.

"Thanks," she said airily, not moving except to rise to standing. The sound of water next door had stopped, and after a moment Amon emerged, mask still in place, some droplets of water down the front of his jacket. Korra steeled herself not to flinch at the sight of him, allowing her fingers to tap nervously against her leg instead.

"Sit down," he said, dismissing the two Equalists with a wave of his hand. When they had closed the door behind them, he removed the mask and set it down on the desk carefully. Testing the waters ever so gently, Korra waited until he had taken a seat until she walked over. She was getting a headache already in his presence, but the pull of food was irresistible. She'd never realised how lucky she'd been with regards to being provided for until she was reliant on a hostile source who would withdraw food on a whim. Tension sang through her body, but that would be normal, wouldn't it? Korra couldn't figure out to act—would suddenly becoming absolutely subservient be weird (and humiliating), or would he expect her to be cowed? Should she rebel a little bit, or follow orders in the hope that it got her what she wanted with minimum pain?

Faced with the food, she tried to force herself to move slowly and carefully—but it was too much. There were multiple dishes on the table, _multiple_ different types of food, and after the uncaring leftovers she'd been surviving on for the past… however long, it was almost enough to bring tears to her eyes to have food that wasn't just fuel but actually tasted… nice. Although she tried to ignore him, her heartbeat erratically testified to the fact that Amon was right there across the table from her. The nausea rising in her stomach was the worst; if she threw up this food there was no way of knowing how long it would be until her next meal. She couldn't afford to lose the energy this would give her.

"Your appetite is prodigious," he remarked, as she shovelled more noodles into her mouth, hunched over the bowl. Korra didn't look up, but moved more slowly. Was that a threat? Was there going to be retribution later for her bad table manners? "That wasn't a rebuke, Korra," he added, sounding vaguely amused. "I know how inconsistent the guards were with your food. I impressed upon them that mistreating you was no longer acceptable." _No_, she thought cynically, _that's your job_. Despite her sarcasm, she felt confused. Had it really been the guards themselves and not Amon's orders? She'd assumed that it was him trying to break her down, make her more reliant and desperate, but what if it he'd actually ordered something different? She made the tiniest shake of her head to try and clear her mind. What did it matter either way? He was still evil, and she'd still starved in that cell. Giving her square meals that got lost in translation didn't really change anything she thought about him—but why would he lie? It didn't serve any purpose, did it?

"How _was_ your day, Korra?" he inquired, reaching elegantly for some sea prunes. She looked up, genuinely caught off guard, mouth open and full of food. Quickly, she looked down again. This was the second time he'd done something like this; ask such an inane question as if they were a real couple and not a captive and a captor. As if that disgusting speech last night about her _haunting_ him had never even happened and he was just a man asking his wife a question about her day. He must be trying to mess with her head. That was the only explanation. "I'm waiting, Korra," he said, voice carrying a hint of a threat. What was she supposed to answer? He knew she'd been in the room the whole time where there was _nothing to do_.

Korra switched onto autopilot, already dreading whatever was going to come out of her mouth. "I thought," she managed to say. It was true, and not as awful as it could have been. _I was planning your downfall_ _would have been the wrong thing to say_, she thought, and had an awful moment she nearly laughed. As soon as he opened his mouth the twitch of laughter utterly disappeared and her face became as straight and neutral as possible. That generally meant a disgruntled expression.

"What about?" She licked her lips nervously, and noticed that his eyes flickered to follow it. An irrational bolt of pain struck her chest, and she forced herself to breathe deeply and calmly. _Like you're meditating_, she thought. _Keep calm_. She'd never been very good at meditating. Perhaps it was time to learn.

"Things," she blurted out. Emboldened by the rush of actual sustenance and the fact that he was _talking_ to her—two could play at that game—she added, "I don't have a lot to do." Then she waited, her stomach tying itself in knots, no way of knowing what he was thinking with that careful, neutral expression.

"You're bored," he said, pulling another dish towards him. "It's understandable. Make a reasonable request and I'll judge by your behaviour whether you've earned it." He took a moment to eat, and poured himself some tea.

Korra's mind raced at the potential of that. What did she _need_? She badly wanted to know where Naga was, she badly wanted to see the people she loved just to talk to them, she wanted to explore the house to map it out, but none of those were going to be realistically granted. They would give her too much power and if there was something Amon held onto, it was power. Something that might grant her all of those, human company and a link to other things she needed was someone willing to help her. Asami! She'd thought over this in her own cell in between being questioned and wallowing and craving. They weren't close, but Asami hadn't seemed like the truly calculating all-for-the-revolution type, and she _had_ liked Mako. She hadn't looked happy when the Equalists had poured onto Air Temple Island, either, in their giant mecha. Her father's giant mecha. There was a crack there, and a crack in the seemingly full proof Equalist machine was what Korra needed right now.

It flitted through her mind in seconds, and she looked down at the floor, gathering her courage to say, "A friend. Not—not Mako or Bolin or anyone, just a friend. I don't know if any Equalist would even want to spend time with me," she heard herself babbling, "but maybe Asami would, because she's an Equalist, isn't she, and we already know each other." He remained silent, and she thought violent curses at him. She'd been too see-through. She was always too see-through. Amon would _know_ that Asami had been close to Mako. "And maybe some Water Tribe clothing?" she asked, adding a request that she knew he would turn down.

"As my wife"—_don't flinch, don't flinch_—"you represent more than the Water Tribe, you represent Republic City." He paused, thinking. "I will consider Asami—Hiroshi's daughter, I believe? An illustrious choice. In the meantime, books, drawing materials, paints? I can be generous if you allow me to be, Korra."

"I just need a friend," she said. Without the mask, he was not quite the Amon of her deep-seated fears, but he was the one who'd—she couldn't think about it. She'd focus on this for now. Ignoring the prickling sensation rippling down her arms and the shiver threatening to break free, she looked up to meet his eyes for just a second. "A girlfriend. A friend who's a girl. Someone to talk to."

He regarded her carefully, she could see out of the corner of her eye. "I see," he said. "Nothing else?"

Feeling uncomfortably like she'd pushed it too far and the avalanche was going to come down on her head at any moment, Korra shrugged. She'd never been much of a reader, and she couldn't draw at all. She could practice martial arts forms when she was dreadfully bored. "No," she replied. She knew it would be a good move, but she couldn't force out the words "thank you".

"As you wish," he said, and they finished the near cold food in—for Korra, at least—a tense, uncomfortable silence. After the dishes had been taken away, he left again without a goodbye and Korra vowed to work out a little bit. She hadn't done any form in what felt like far too long and probably was far too long. It was time to practice some more after long weeks of having done nothing.

* * *

She was so carried away by her own success and the civil way in which he had addressed her at lunch, breakfast, whatever it had been that when he came storming into the room in a temper—a controlled, freezing rage, but rage all the same—hours later, presumably evening, she was almost surprised when he hit her. And when he continued to hit her, she was almost surprised by how easily the paralysing fear rose. When the fear rose, she was almost surprised by how pitifully quickly she cried.

He didn't hurt her anywhere that it would show, but afterwards held her closely and tightly enough to bruise. She didn't sleep well. She stared at the wall, trying not to move, the thought of enduring this _every_ _night_ rendering a lengthy game plan utterly impossible.


	4. FOUR

_Don't have an awful lot to say-episode was_ amazing _today, thank you all for your attention to this story, and reviews are appreciated but not required! _

* * *

**FOUR**

* * *

In the morning—or the middle of the night, or the middle of the day—Amon rose, using her to push himself up. The scratches she'd given him the first night were no longer as red. A fresh, feebler scratch accompanied them, bright red.

"I hope you understand that I'm displeased," he said dispassionately, tossing the covers behind him. She pulled them over her head, and he yanked them back, an unusually vehement movement for him. Curling into the foetal position, she refused to look at him. "I thought that we were making progress, Korra." Hearing her name was like a punch in the gut. She tried to breathe smoothly. "I was willing to make concessions, Korra. I was willing to allow some excessive behaviour in the first few days.

"Sit up," he ordered, standing over her. Slowly, painfully, she acquiesced. With a firm grip on her chin—all alone and surrounded by Equalists, he came out of the darkness—he twisted the angle of her head to look at him, and when she refused to look directly into his face he tightened the grip until she managed to fixate her eyes on the scratches.

"You will _never_ attack me again." Resenting him, hating everything and above all afraid, she nodded with what little freedom of movement she had. "I don't have time to discipline your friends today, but next time you defy me like this, I will have one of them killed. Is that clear?" When she nodded again, he released her as violently as to almost throw her away, and moved away as if nothing had happened. "Good. You're seeing a tailor today so that you have clothes you can be seen publically in. You yourself, however," he said poisonously, turning on the shower on, "are another matter."

She stared at the wall uncomprehendingly, pulling the blankets over her head until everything disappeared from view and the world shrank to just her and the space between her skin and the fabric.

* * *

She needed someone right now. She wasn't sure if she could bear anyone to touch her, but maybe just someone to hold onto her hand and anchor her to the world. She alternately bitterly between highs of anger where she played it out in her head again and again, trying to decipher what she could have done to change it—hidden in the bathroom until he went to sleep, talked to distract him—and lows of despondency where just for moments at a time she thought she might deserve it for failing the world.

At one point, she lashed out without thinking as if to clear her head and hit the bed. A torrent of anger unleashed from nowhere, she punched the mattress again and again, her breath coming in quiet, painful shrieks until she heard the dreadful noise of something having ripped between her hands. It was the sheet. She'd ripped the sheet. What if he noticed? What if he thought that it was sabotage? Panicking, she got up off the bed and wandered around the room frantically looking for another set of sheets. In her fervour she bodily pulled out one of the drawers and spent a full minute kicking it across the room.

She didn't really know how to change a bed. After moments of staring at it, fumbling with it, she got the sheet off, and attempted to put the other on. The first time round it was inside out. The second time she was so desperate and afraid that he'd come back that she hit her head twice on two different posts of the four poster bed. It didn't look good when she'd finished. It looked awful. In the hope that it would camouflage the mess, she spread the cover on top and tried to make that look neat instead. Minutes were lost to almost mindless smoothing, creating new wrinkles every time no matter how even she tried to make it.

Breathing hard, she sat down in the middle of the room and turned over her hands in her lap. Sitting still was unbearable. Instead, she got up and rattled off a few kicks, a few punches. She felt feverish and charged, unable to remain still for more than a few seconds. Mindlessly, she ran through all the basic forms she knew, then through some of the more advanced ones, and then through a few of the very difficult ones. Without having properly warmed up and the effect on her unfuelled, out of shape body, pain caught up very quickly. Her legs began to feel like lead, and her arms as if they weighed tons. She refused to stop, moving frenetically around the room fighting an invisible enemy.

When she realised that she was crying, she stopped, and sat down in the middle of the floor, and curled up into a ball, and let herself cry. Her insides felt like they were breaking, and she wondered if this was how Mako and Bolin and Tenzin and Lin and the _children_ felt like after their torture, the _children_. Thinking of them solidified the misery lodged permanently in her chest, and Korra just couldn't bear it any more. She dragged her nails down her own arms, breath hitching and shrieking in her throat, on the verge of something, something—

Something clicked and for a second, her eyes glowed luminously.

"Hello, young Avatar," a kindly voice said, and she nearly jumped a mile. Sniffing, breathing in, choking a little on her own snot, she wiped her eyes and looked up at a man who must be Avatar Aang as he would have looked, presumably forty-two years ago. He sat cross-legged by her side, his face compassionate, composed with tempered understanding. "Korra, I should say," he added, giving her a gentle smile. She wiped her nose, feeling totally ashamed, the massive hard ball of desolation popped like a balloon and rolled slowly to sitting, pulling her knees right up to her chest. She wasn't ready to speak yet. "It's good to finally meet you, though I do wish the circumstances were better. I'm Avatar Aang, your predecessor."

"You really look like Tenzin," Korra said, trying to regain her old carefree attitude. This was _Aang_. This was the man who had been the boy who had ended the Hundred Years War, and she was crying like a child in front of him. "Or… I guess, Tenzin looks like you. Sorry," she added. She must sound like an idiot.

Aang laughed, and for a moment she could see the child he had been in the boyish expression. "He always was compared to me, especially as an airbender. Our legacy, mine and Katara's, it was a hard one to grow up with, for our children..." He looked at her, his smile more wistful. "It's not only their legacy that's been hard… I meant to bring balance to the world, but it seems I left you a world as difficult as Roku left me. I understand if you don't really want to talk to me."

"Oh, no, no," Korra said, shocked. "Of course I want to talk to you—you're Avatar _Aang_, you ended the war when you were just a _kid_, you founded Republic City—of course I want to talk to you. And," she added, looking down, "I just want to… talk to someone."

"I founded Republic City as a place where people of all nations could live in harmony. I was complacent after in my victory in the war. I made so _many_ mistakes. I'm so_, so_ sorry that you have to take all of them on. The council, the Triads—and you're not much older than I was, and you've been sheltered all your life. Another mistake."

"I didn't mind it too much," she offered awkwardly. This man, apologising to _her_? She didn't deserve it. "I had people. You didn't have anyone…" His expression became bittersweet, and she couldn't help but give him a tiny smile of her own.

"You don't need to comfort me, Korra," he said, straightening his robes. "What do _you_ need?"

She bit her lip, unsure now that she'd got this far. "About… my… bending," she said, nearly whispering. "Amon took it. He took my bending. I can't bend any more. Does that mean that I'm not the Avatar anymore? Was it what you did to Ozai? I just… I know I need to fight Amon and restore balance to Republic City, but I don't know if I can do it without my bending." She waited, turning over the shirt's hem in her hands.

"Whatever Amon did to you, it's not energy-bending. But you are _still_ the Avatar. My being here means you're still the Avatar. And that means that you still have the power to bring balance to the world." Aang frowned, and rubbed at his chin thoughtfully, tangling his fingers in his beard. "I can't be sure, it's not really my area of expertise, but it's almost as if—" Korra leaned forward eagerly, seeing the thoughtful expression on his face—

The door opened. She jumped, the surprise knocking her off balance and sprawling onto her back. The sense of calm that had been blissfully present while Aang had been present vanished and she waited, wary. A woman came through the door, bowed so shallowly as to be insulting, and looked at Korra with an expression that bespoke dislike barely covered by rigid manners, which were quickly slipping. "Please come with me," she drawled. Korra got to her feet, head spinning; Aang was gone, she noted worriedly. She had no way of knowing whether she could get him _back_ again. But it had been good to talk. The fear and rage that had been swamping her had subsided to the point where she no longer felt the need to scream and rip things apart.

She still felt twitchy; enough to shove back when the woman bumped her shoulder 'accidentally' on the way out of the door. For a second, they sized each other up coolly, and the Equalist sighed. "Whatever," she muttered. "Let's get this over with. Don't try anything," she warned Korra as they stepped into the corridor. Korra was too busy looking around her, feeling how cool the air was out here on her skin compared to the stuffy, stale air in his rooms. It was… uncomfortable, though. She couldn't place it exactly, but as they moved away from the rooms she became more ill at ease. She wasn't sure, but she thought her breathing might be coming more difficultly. When she tried to practice the deep breathing Tenzin had taught her for meditation, her chest constricted until she nearly gasped.

This had never happened to her before—what was it? Why was it happening now? She should be scoping the place out, trying to remember where everything was, and instead she was becoming increasingly dizzy with the short, panicked breaths she was managing to take in. Her heart was beating fast as well, uncommonly quickly, and Korra bit the inside of her mouth in an attempt to steady herself. It didn't help. It just hurt. The woman was getting further and further ahead, not even bothering to check that Korra was behind her. That hurt as well. It hurt her pride. She was the _Avatar_, and they only sent one guard to deal with her.

She itched to escape right there, the thought of giving them the slip and disappearing simply racketing up her heartbeat until it was pounding in her ears. Her fingers twitched involuntarily, itching to move and take down that arrogant, stupid stinking Equalist who didn't even consider her a threat without her bending. _I know more than bending_, she wanted to shout, digging her nails into her sides to try and focus herself. The corridor was beginning to slide about a little bit in a way that she was sure wasn't natural.

This space was just… too _big_, it was too _open_. As much as she hated his rooms, they were encapsulated. She hadn't been outside them in days, and she'd been taught to fear the door, and fear the shock it brought, but she'd wanted to be outside the door because it represented that gap between the inside and the outside and now she was outside it and she couldn't even breathe. And, she reminded herself, and if she escaped now she didn't know her way around. She couldn't save her friends, or get out, and it would break down so quickly and security would be tightened and _he_ would hurt her.

All the same, as she walked along dizzily practically panting to try and take in air, one hand to her chest, she imagined taking out the Equalist again and again. A blow to the back of the head was risky but quick. Pressure points she wasn't so good on, but she knew a few that would knock someone right out. Something flashier that might allow dangerous fighting back, the louder moves that she knew just to feel alive for a while.

Whatever she had expected, it hadn't been rows of bolts of fabric, different materials hanging about, patterns on the walls. The woman turned to her, arms crossed, expression unhappy, gesturing around irritably. "We're giving you a wardrobe. Stand on that square in the middle of the room." Of course. She'd already forgotten what he'd said that morning. Of course.

A couple of assistants came forward who seemed to know what they were doing. Korra stepped mutely onto the square, staring at the wall, preparing herself for a boring and tedious few hours. At least that weird breathing thing had finally stopped. As long as she didn't really think about it, she could breathe easily again.

She nearly hit the first person to touch her, his fingers cool on her skin, steadying a measuring tape. He looked up at her fearfully, eyes wide, and she realised that this was not an Equalist but an ordinary tailor hired to make her clothes. He was not Amon. He needed to measure her. It was his job. Even so, she dug her fingernails into her skin as those fingers moved over her impersonally and gently. When there was a quiet request for her to lift her arms up, she did so burning with indignity. Measuring her bust was worse—nails in her shoulders, buried underneath the weight, unable to move—and she had to grit her teeth.

"We've got your measurements," the tailor said quietly, the measuring tape snapping back. "You may return, and we'll begin work immediately, Avatar." The woman, lounging in a corner and looking utterly bored, snorted.

"Not the Avatar anymore," she said, looking at Korra. Korra refused to meet her eyes, her temper stretched and stretched to the point where she suspected breaking point was not far off. She couldn't afford to attack this woman. Not right now. She could save it for the future. Think of how satisfying it would be then, think of it then… It was nearly painful to suppress her anger, which seemed to have been growing and growing in the past few days until it felt as if it might be threatening to consume her.

"Ex-Avatar," the tailor said, giving her a deep bow. He tugged on his cap to her, and scurried away under the displeased gaze of the Equalist.

"Let's go," she said, unfolding herself and striding off. "And pray I never get stuck with babysitting _you_ ever again. Help the ex-Avatar get clothes. It's a revolutionary job. Right," she said, disgusted, "_right_."

* * *

"Asami!" Korra hadn't planned to blurt it out, but it had spilled forth; she'd seen that hair on the other side of the hall already moving away, seen her chance and not thought about it. The Equalist shepherding her turned around, exasperated.

"Don't make this difficult," she warned, hands on her hips, brushing a stray piece of hair that had escaped her bun. "This doesn't have to be difficult." Korra ignored her, craning her neck to see Asami in the distance. Was she pretending not to hear?

"Asami!" she called again, trying to sound friendly. It came out desperately, but she supposed that was what she was. "Asami!" Finally, the other girl turned around, unable to pretend that she couldn't hear anymore. Her face, drawn and pale, fell when she saw Korra looking right at her. Breathing reluctance, she walked over. The Equalist sighed, sounding resigned more than aggravated at this point.

"Whatever, have your chat," she said, crossing her arms again and leaning against the wall with her eyes closed. "You have five minutes and then we're going back so I'm rid of you. Five minutes, do you hear me?"

"Sure," Korra said distantly, running her dry tongue over her teeth nervously. What was she going to say? She hadn't thought that far ahead. She couldn't afford to mess up this chance… act like real friends, maybe. Pretend… pretend Asami was a younger version of Katara, or something. They were friends, she chanted in her head. They were good friends. This wasn't weird at all. Steeling herself for the discomfort that would follow, she launched herself in a fairly enthusiastic hug at Asami. "Hey," she said, focusing on talking to Katara. "It's been ages!" Blessedly, Asami went along with it after one awkward moment that felt like an age, patting Korra on the back without a trace of stiffness.

"Hi Korra," she said warmly. Her expression seemed genuinely glad, but Korra could see the traces of guilt in the tiny frown and the new creases in her forehead that hadn't been there before. "It _has_ been a while, hasn't it? I haven't seen anyone; I miss it. I don't suppose you've had much contact?" _She means Mako? Probably not just Mako, but everyone_. Her spirits rose, taking comfort that it seemed like she'd made the right decision about Asami, however much she'd resented the other girl at first. All that seemed unbearably foolish now, childish and thoughtless.

"I haven't been out much. I don't think anyone else has either," she said, hoping that her Equalist guard just wasn't paying a lot of attention. She was hopeless at speaking in code. "Last time I saw them they were looking a bit rough… they uh, haven't adjusted yet, I don't think. Maybe you should… go see them…" She rubbed at the back of her neck and bit her lip. "How have you been?"

"Okay," Asami replied, her smile strained but kind. "I hope you've been doing all right… I couldn't be there, but I heard about your marriage." Korra looked up again as if she'd been kicked in the stomach, the expression on her face nakedly afraid and small before she managed to control it and return it to something tense but largely neutral. She missed Asami's reaction; the surprise, the quick flickering of emotions reflecting a rapid thought process, and the settling into solid determination.

"I—" Korra began, a wobble hitching her voice unusually high. She was immediately cut off by Asami, who placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. Korra didn't flinch away from it, the contact feeling safe.

"It's been far too long," Asami said firmly, "and we shouldn't let it go for so long next time. I'll discuss it with my father, and you should mention it to our leader. Oh, come here, you look thin; have they been feeding you enough?" She held open her arms, and Korra walked into them as surrender, her eyes tearing up ever so slightly. Their first hug had been undeniably businessnesslike; this was warm, and kind, and affectionate. To her surprise, Asami leaned in, right to her ear, and whispered—at first, Korra missed the words, her brain only managing to process them after they'd been spoken—"_It's not permanent_. _It's your head_."

It wasn't permanent… what wasn't permanent? This situation? Her thinness? It was all in her head? Asami gradually disengaged from the hug, accompanying it with a smile, and gently punched Korra in the shoulder, giving her a subtle wink. Korra's tired mind tried to process what were clearly clues—and it clicked. It hit her like an electric shock. It must be bending, with that punch—an impression of one of her firebending punches?—but how could it not be permanent? And… her head… Amon had touched her forehead; he always touched people's foreheads—so he'd done something there?

"I think that was more than five minutes," the Equalist guard drawled, walking over with her hands in her pockets. "Let's _go_." Asami reached to touch Korra's shoulder again, giving her a reassuring pat.

"We'll be in touch," she promised, one hand on her hip. "You ask too, but I can't see them saying no." Korra kept her face neutral, thinking bitterly that he would say to anything that might bring her happiness at this point.

"Wait a couple of days," she said. Her voice still came out as a near-whisper, so ridiculously timid. She was too used to tip-toeing around him. In a moment of wistful melancholy, she realised how much she'd changed, nearly entirely for worse. "Then ask." Asami didn't question that, but she did frown almost imperceptibly. When the Equalist coughed, she waved goodbye cheerfully and walked off with definite purpose.

Korra moved on after the Equalist, head down and mind churning. Her bending wasn't gone permanently—was that what Avatar Aang had been going to say? Hope flooded through her again, this time bringing unease with it. Last time she'd dared to hope she'd been badly burned. She couldn't let it show. That hurt a little, despite knowing that it was for the best. She only recognised how deeply unhappy she was when these tiny moments came along, and they were so _short_.

She watched carefully when the Equalist opened the door; the woman had some kind of special paper that she put against multiple places before the door clicked. Then she turned an ordinary handle, pushing the door with what seemed like some considerable effort. Korra moved forward, dreading returning to those rooms. She'd panicked earlier when she was taken out of them, and now she could feel that same shortness of breath returning again as she stepped over the threshold.

Everything vanished into dull surprise as she saw the masked figure sat at the desk, diligently turning over bits of paper and scribbling on them. He turned around to face the door as the Equalist shooed Korra in and bowed so deeply she nearly touched the floor. "Sir," she said, suddenly all seriousness.

"You may leave," he said, adding after a small pause, "thank you."

"My pleasure," she said reverently, straightening up and hurrying out. The door clicked closed. His demeanour changed almost instantly as his subordinate left, from the composure to tense, perhaps frustrated, tossing papers into piles almost carelessly. The touch of anger in his movements dried her already parched throat into drought.

Amon regarded her without a word, taking in her pallor and immediate fascination with smoothing her clothing down. "Stop fidgeting," he ordered, and she jumped, placing her arms by her sides rigidly. "Have you considered your transgressions?" She knew what he wanted to hear and nodded, not trusting her voice. "Good. You have two options, you understand; the fruitless choice of rebellion, which will end in further unnecessary violence, or the simpler, smoother choice of obedience. I've said it before, Korra; I can be generous and good to you if you allow me to be. I don't expect to have to discipline you like a child, so don't force my hand again. Do you understand?" She nodded again. "Speak to me when I'm talking to you, Korra."

"I understand," she said, feeling herself shrinking. With Asami she'd almost been tall; the distance between who she had been and who she was now was a chasm, but she had been a human being. Here, she was almost an object. A trophy. A living, breathing trophy.

Amon got to his feet elegantly and removed his mask, placing it on the desk. He walked across the room to where she was standing, paralysed, and she shrank further inside herself. Reaching for her, he held her chin in a grip that would bruise later. She saw the switch from detached leader to that frightening, hungry, desperate man take over. "_Good_," he whispered, his voice rasping and harsh.

He kissed her, of all the things, as if this was really a relationship and not a hostage situation. His hands ran through her hair, pulling her head back viciously—then they were running down her sides, grabbing and scratching and moving restlessly. He shoved her against the wall, and she cried out in pain, hands flailing helplessly in the air against nothing. Registering solely panic once more, she collected herself enough to bring her arms up and shove against his chest. He was immovable, only making an ugly groan and pressing harder. "_Yes_," he breathed, biting her shoulder hard enough to make her yelp. "I can be good to you," he said, a sick smile spreading across his face.

Korra floated somewhere above, distant, as he pulled her to pieces. _It's not permanent_, she thought remotely.

_It's not permanent. _


	5. FIVE

Hello everyone! I have been just blown away by all the attention this is getting, and I am gleeful and hope that you enjoy your chapter, because I find this is where it starts getting plottier, and I really enjoyed writing it. (Generally, this fic has been one of the most rewarding things I've ever done just in the _writing_, it's so gritty and unstable!Amon is one of the most fun things to write.)

* * *

**FIVE**

* * *

He had taken his time in what was a parody of romance; usually quick and brutal, this time he moved slowly, languorously, savouring.

Korra thought of other things. She detached herself from reality. She almost preferred it when he was angry and rough. At least that was over quickly.

His hands bruised her, pulling her in directions that made her feel as if her bones would break. His hands pulled her hair until it came out. His hands held her still.

A knock came at the door and he jerked angrily, his face twisted into fury. "What is it?" he said, his tone eerily calm compared to his expression. Korra shuddered at the thought that all the while his voice had been so cool and removed from emotion he'd been looking like _that_ behind the mask. If she just had her bending, she'd _destroy _him. She'd burn him up properly.

"It's important," the Lieutenant said, muffled through the door. "Riots in the slums. There are benders involved. I could go myself, but it's the third in the past two days—"

"No business here," Amon interrupted, with a quick glance at Korra. He rolled off the bed and yanked open drawers, pulling out clothes. He dressed quickly and simply, slipping on the mask and pulling up his hood. With one last, dark look at Korra, who had just pulled up the sheets and curled up underneath them in her usual place, he opened the door and strode out of it.

Her jailor gone, Korra lay on the bed for the longest time. All her energy had disappeared, eaten up by fear and disappointment and loneliness and consistently crushed hope. Gently, slowly, she persuaded herself to sit up. That was one step. Holding herself, she swung her legs off the edge of the bed. Her feet dangled. Thoughtlessly, she kicked her legs back and forth, watching them move. She'd made contact with Asami. She'd begun to implement her meagre plan. It was okay to be afraid. There was hope.

Unsteadily, she got to her feet and retrieved her own clothes, now disgusting after several days of not having been changed. She laid across the middle of the floor, her habitual residence, and let herself think of plans rather than hands holding her down mercilessly. Riots in the slums. Benders involved. She'd assumed that she'd be working from the inside out with some allies inside the Equalist machine itself… She hadn't even thought about the possibilities of those outside. Ruefully, she rubbed at the back of her neck and twisted a piece of her hair. Even now, she was still self-absorbed, still set in the mind-set of doing it all by herself head on. Perhaps there were much bigger cracks appearing _outside_ of the Equalist machine that could be used to greater advantage…

And if she had her link to the outside world through Asami, she could harness those people and create an underground rebellion. Aang hadn't really gone it alone when he had fought the Fire Lord. He'd had friends, allies, and people willing to fight.

She couldn't take down the Equalists alone. Maybe she didn't need to.

Her gaze flickered around the room, and alighted on the desk. She hadn't looked at the papers once so far, too afraid to. She knew that some of the drawers were locked; she couldn't get into those. She'd also been suspicious that Amon had just left them there. If they were important, surely he wouldn't just leave them lying around where she could read them, unless he considered her that pathetic. Glancing over them, they looked fairly dry… financial reports, letters from people that she'd never heard of—several from Tarrlok which she resisted the urge to rip up, betraying _scum_—there were even some from Hiroshi Sato towards the bottom of the pile. The mention of the mecha caught her interest and she looked closer. It would be really handy if one of them could say "**FATAL WEAKNESSES HERE**", but it didn't look like she was going to be that lucky. They were just about the glorious new weapons, still some problems to be worked out, bla, bla, bla… old news.

There were more letters in the other pile that she sorted through, skim reading, aware that he could return at any moment. One of them was from Ba Sing Se… it mentioned the problem of the Dai Li. Korra scratched her chin. Hadn't the Dai Li been some sort of secret police? Weren't they evil? In the letter, they were just described as elite earthbenders. For a moment, she imagined having a whole team of elite earthbenders behind her to take down the Equalists. She sighed. It was a wonderful dream, but a dream nonetheless.

Or… did it have to be? The elite waterbenders of the Poles were too far away to come to her aid any time soon. The Fire Nation was experiencing some rebellions in more multicultural areas, she knew, and the Fire Lady was focused on putting them down to keep her reign stable. The Fire Nation probably couldn't afford to come to their aid right now. But Ba Sing Se wasn't so far away from Republic City. With Azula's patronage, the Dai Li had once taken a city. Maybe with the Avatar's backing, they could take a city _back_.

Replacing the papers carefully, pile on pile of financial reports, she filed that thought away as _useful_, and tried to meditate for a while to collect her thoughts. _It wasn't permanent…_ She could have her bending back. Hope, so stifled, bubbled up in her chest uncontainably. She accepted it, and buried it down where it wouldn't show.

* * *

When he returned, he was angry again. The brief respite she'd got while he was away was over; every time he was around she felt as if she was walking on egg shells. It didn't matter that he wasn't even paying attention to her. For the first few minutes it had been worse that he was working at his desk; she was petrified that he'd notice that she'd gone through the papers.

He didn't, but she was still afraid of him finding her out. She sat on the floor by the chest of drawers, largely just twiddling her thumbs and waiting painfully for time to pass until he left again. It didn't help that she was so sleepy. Right now, she couldn't afford to fall asleep, and the mixture of tension and exhaustion in her body was not a helpful combination. He was writing letters. From where she was sitting, she couldn't see who to, but each letter was messier than the last. The frenetic touch to his movements made her only more nervous. Sooner or later that energy would be turned on her.

There was another knock at the door. This time, Amon simply put down the pen. He was eerily silent, but Korra could feel the anger breathing from him. He opened it coolly. "What?" he asked. The man outside the door bowed so low Korra wondered idly for a second if he would topple over.

"The lady's clothes, sir," he said, remaining bent over.

"Ah, yes," Amon said, his temper receding as if it had never been. Korra's skin prickled. It was so fast, how he could switch between the two extremes. It was… frightening. "In these drawers." He gestured to the bottom four on the chest of drawers.

"Beg your pardon, sir, is there anywhere I could hang some of them? You requested dresses, which should really be hung. If that's all right," he added quickly, bobbing up and down nervously.

"I'm afraid not, but I shall get it seen to. For the time being, those drawers will do." When the man was gone, bowing and scraping again on his way out, Amon motioned to the drawers. "Get changed," he said. "I'm tired of seeing you in those dirty clothes." He waited while she changed in the bathroom, not speaking a word until she emerged in a knee length black skirt, grey leggings and the cunningly layered together combination of one piece to look like a vest, blouse and jacket.

Indolently, he looked her over in a flicker, and nodded. "Sit," he ordered, and she sat uncomfortably on the bed, twisting her hands together in her lap. What did he want this time? "You overheard talk of rebellion today. That rebellion has been crushed." The ruthless certainty in his voice made her shudder. "If you had any foolish thoughts about your own rebellion, know this; every new order faces rebellion in the adaptation period. Today, the insurgent benders failed. The insurgents will continue to fail. If you ally yourself with such you're doomed to failure. You will dwindle, and your friends will die.

"One by one, they will fall because you could not accept your new duties; the firebender, the earthbender, the airbender, the policewoman, each will die as you watch, knowing it was your fault. Or you could wear your pretty clothes, smile a pretty smile and step out beside me. You could talk to the masses, tell the tale of going from being the Avatar to a productive, useful member of society; host dinners, receive dignitaries. I would allow you the agency to undertake your own projects—children, the homeless, medical care, the arts. And each night, rather than fighting and scratching and biting, you could be satisfied. Rather than fighting, you could embrace your future, your life with me." One look into that intense, twistedly desperate gaze and her head was spinning. "I _can_ be good to you, Korra. You are the only barrier to your own success. Are you willing to try? Are you willing to create a new order with me?"

She knew what he wanted to hear, and lifted her head decisively, her heart beating so loud that she was sure that he must be able to make it out. "Yes," she said, her voice certain. He removed his mask and gave her a small, satisfied smile.

"Good."

Then he moved forward to drown her once more.

* * *

A clock was installed in the room at her tentative request so that she could finally figure out how much time was passing. It was surprisingly comforting. She'd been worried that it would make the time run slowly; instead it made it easier to structure how long she practiced for each day, and made her aware of time was ticking on.

Amon was largely absent, and when he did return it was often simply to sleep. She would watch him on the bed, so close, so… invulnerable even when asleep, and dream of inflicting hideous torture on him. In the back of her mind, she always was nearly worried that he would wake up, that he could tell what her thoughts were. After a while she became irrationally worried that he would be able to know her thoughts by her expression or something, and stopped thinking up inventive punishments. When he was awake, he would work at the desk, and utterly disregard her. She couldn't tell if this was worse than when he was paying attention to her; it stretched her nerves beyond what she had considered possible to just have him walking around the room ignoring her—sometimes he would pace—and she barely dared make a sound.

At least he wasn't touching her at all. He barely went near her, and she meditated in his absences. She became much better at clearing her mind and though her meandering thoughts persisted, it remained an improvement on how she had been on Air Temple Island. The Avatar State was an impossibility. She had no idea how to get into it, and Aang remained in the Spirit World, untouchable. It was frustrating. A cycle established of lengthy meditation, resulting impatience and resulting hours of frustrated combat practice—missing her bending intensely, sometimes she would move through the forms just to keep them fresh in her mind, but that never failed to make her morose—and the tiredness that would follow, keeping her resting for hours more.

The tedium was what was getting to her overall. Her food came at random times—she checked the clock each time—no doubt on purpose. Sometimes nothing would come for twelve hours. Once, food came twice in two hours, both time overloaded platters that she couldn't possibly eat all of. She tried anyway, and was fiercely sick afterwards. Those hours, spent miserably throwing up, remained uncomfortably present every time a new meal came.

This tedium was finally broken when someone came to the rooms to take her somewhere unspecified; having lacked the energy most days to get dressed for no purpose, she felt revolting under the eyes of another human being, suddenly ashamed at how horrible she looked. Amon's words about pretty clothes and a pretty smile were still sorely close, and they were making her feel strange about her appearance. She didn't want to be reduced to how she looked, something that she had never been that bothered by, but she felt slovenly and filthy when other people looked at her now. As if their gazes proved that she was filthy, showed it. After painful indecision, she took a quick shower, washing off the sweat and grime from exercise and rolling around the floor. She didn't feel any cleaner. Just too hot and damp. She rolled up her sleeves to her elbows, breathed in too quickly, and choked, and walked out of the bathroom.

Feeling small and upset and twisted, she followed the Equalist out into the corridor. As last time, her chest tightened painfully at being out in the open.

* * *

Whatever she'd been expecting, it hadn't been this. Hiroshi Sato must have some serious influence with Amon, because she'd been so sure that he'd never let her have friends, that he'd keep her alone and locked up for his own amusement.

Asami sat elegantly in an armchair, legs crossed, in the middle of what looked like… a parlour or something. It was small and intimate, tastefully decorated in the dull Equalist colours except for one poster occupying an entire wall. Korra turned away from it, swallowing painfully, and smiled weakly at Asami. "Hi," she said. The Equalist bowed to Asami and left, shutting the door behind them with a quiet click. Asami rose to her feet, holding out her arms, and Korra walked into them gladly.

"They'll be watching us," Asami whispered, "be careful." The pressing tone in her voice was utterly distant from the expression on her face, a kind, smiling, girlish façade. "How have you been? I know it was only the other day that I saw you, but it already feels like it's been ages, Korra. I haven't been that busy, I guess. You?"

"I'm… not very busy," Korra said awkwardly, fiddling with her clothes, picking apart seams.

"No, I expect not," Asami said, leading the conversation gently. "I've been asking for weeks to see the others, and even my dad can't make any headway. Isn't that odd?"

"Odd," she echoed, hearing her voice come from far away. She wanted to ask about the riots. The riots were what she needed to know about—but if the Equalists were listening in, she couldn't afford to have Amon have an inkling of what she was doing, and he probably already suspected her because of her contact with Asami, but she couldn't keep going on like this—

Asami glanced towards the poster on the wall carefully for just a second, she noticed, and then dragged her chair in closer until there remained only a tiny amount of space in between the two of them. She reached out and took Korra's hand, and looked into her eyes, with the tiniest frown. "The spy hole in this room is awful," she whispered. "That's why I persuaded them to put us in here. They shouldn't be able to hear now, if we're quiet." Her expression changed slowly, from light and casual to concern.

"Korra," she said almost inaudibly, holding her hand firmly. "I don't mean to pry… but there are bruises on your arms." Korra pulled her hand back jerkily, and pulled down her rolled-up sleeves to cover her forearms. The sick feeling in her stomach came through with such force that she lurched, and covered her mouth as if to hold in everything. "Has Amon… has he been hurting you? There are laws, Korra. There are laws in place to stop this sort of thing—"

"There were laws," Korra said, trying to keep her voice down, remembering that watching Equalist guard—where were they watching from, how much could they hear? Her expression must be giving her away painfully obviously. "Now that he's in charge… who's really going to care? All the Equalists _hate_ me, they actually hate me. They'd join in." She couldn't look at Asami, hovering so protectively, so righteously angrily for her. It made her want to shrink even further. She didn't deserve that level of care.

"There are plenty of people out there who care about you," Asami said, low and urgent. "There have been _riots_, riots, Korra, started because people have asked where you've been since the marriage and they haven't been getting answers. You've sparked riots. People _do_ care. They care so, so much. If you'll let me…?" Korra nodded shortly, awkwardly as Asami took her hand again and squeezed it tight. "I know I don't know you that well, and I'm sorry that we didn't have much time, but you're so obviously in pain and I wish I could do something. I haven't lost hope. You're still the Avatar, and I still believe that somehow, you can save this city. But you're a person too. Tell me what you need, Korra, and I'll do it. My father… I didn't know that he was a part of this… I went along with him because I was confused, and it was already happening. It's not right, what's happening. If it was _just_ happening to you, it wouldn't be right, and it's happening to the whole city." She leaned in closer, and Korra was caught in her gaze, hypnotised by her charismatic fervour. "Let's start a rebellion," she whispered wickedly.

"Let's start a rebellion," Korra said, as quietly as she could, taking Asami's hand with her other and holding on tight on to her only source of faith. For the first time, it felt stable. It wasn't the slipping in her head from manic highs where she was determined to blow everything to pieces and break things, which quickly turned to dust as soon as Amon laid his hands on her. She had an ally. The city was already rioting. Hope felt serious, not something to cling to in the darker hours of the night when she couldn't sleep for his skin on hers. They were going to start a rebellion.


	6. SIX

Blessings be upon all your houses. Also this was the first chapter where your stone cold bastard of an author cried at her own fanfiction jsyk

(p.s. I fully expect all my theories and half my plot to be blown up by the finale tomorrow, but I finished this fic a while ago, so if the finale directly contradicts plot points in here then I won't be changing them—unless I rewrite, but that won't be in the near future—hope y'all understand!)

* * *

**SIX**

* * *

Korra unloaded the meagre information that she had to Asami; she made sure to mention the Dai Li. Perhaps she was clinging onto them because they were from Aang's time. Somewhere in her, she thought it would be neat to use a force that Aang had encountered in his time for her rebellion. After all, she was coming from the opposite place that he had been, from within the very machine that she was fighting. Above all, their loved ones had to be safe. She'd given Asami a rough approximation of where everyone was, and the other girl had promised to look into getting them out safely. Korra wasn't sure that she could survive anyone dying, at this point.

In all the excitement, discussing possible plans and allies, it wasn't until she was back in the rooms again that she realised with a jerk that she had forgotten to ask Asami about what she'd said about her bending—_it's not permanent. It's your head._ That was a bitter disappointment. For a good hour she couldn't stop turning it over. She had _forgotten_. Was she beginning to forget her bending? She _couldn't_. It was such a large part of her.

Amon appeared only once, and briefly, to shower and tell her that tomorrow, they'd be making their first public appearance. After one moment of uncomfortable scrutiny, he left her to her own devices. She moved about the room, executing kicks and punches, feeling largely panic and some strange anticipation at the idea of being_ outside_ after so long.

* * *

He held her hand tightly in the bridal style. The noise of the crowd outside made it through the walls of City Hall easily, the babbling echoing in her ears. Her heartbeat was racing wildly, something she was sure that he had noticed. She'd been instructed not to say anything unless she was given the go-ahead. It burned a little that he hadn't even given her rules except only to speak when allowed to; he thought that she was that cowed. How insulting.

Words had never been her strength anyway. This was something to endure. She was under the impression that it was only for propaganda purposes anyway. The security didn't even seem that rigorous. Well, if they were getting lazy, it was all better for her.

"We're ready," the Lieutenant said, standing to their side. Amon nodded to the people by the doors and slowly, painstakingly, they began to open them. The roar of the crowd rose to unbearable levels and, her mouth suddenly bone dry, Korra swallowed uncomfortably. She could face people. Press conferences weren't anything new to her. This was going to be okay, and then it was going to be over, and it would be fine.

The doors opened, and the girl who had been the Avatar and the Equalist stepped out onto the stage. Korra kept her expression reserved at best, hiding any abject panic; drawn and unhappy was the best she could act. They reached barriers set up at the edge of the platform that definitely hadn't been there before, large platinum bars separating them and the crowd. The press were jostling at the front of an enormous crowd, cameras flashing and mics being pushed forward. Their questions, shouted as loudly as possible, simply melded with the rest of the incoherent _noise_ coming from the people.

Beside her, Korra could feel Amon tense slightly. His grip tightened ever so marginally, then slowly, deliberately loosened. Was something wrong? That wasn't the usual tug that he gave her to behave; that had seemed like it was coming from his end. Why was Amon tense? She surveyed the crowd. It did seem a little rowdy… perhaps things were going wrong. She hid the sly smile that threatened to emerge. The people weren't quite as subdued as Amon had made them out to be.

Gradually, the clamour subsided as Equalists stationed around the edges held up signs for quiet. It shrank to a burble and then near silence. The Lieutenant held out a mic, for which Amon relinquished his hold on Korra. She stood there, not sure what to do with herself and feeling painfully awkward. After uncomfortable fluttering, she settled on holding her hands together in front of her and staring at the platinum bars. The feedback from the mic echoed briefly and sharply around the make-shift arena, and Amon began.

"My people," he said. He was distant this way, the composed and in control ruler. Korra wondered idly, bitterly what the city would do, all those people shouting for their _equality_, if they knew what went on behind the doors of their beloved leader. He was a good speaker, but all those words and tricks masked a seriously twisted person, someone who switched between calm and fury in seconds. "For the first time, I present to Republic City myself _and_ my wife, the image of the peace that can be between those who were benders and non-benders. We apologise that this has not come sooner; taking up the administration of a city has, of course, not been easy. With the situation stable, we are more than willing to accept your questions. Please, one at a time." The mic was set down on a stand in front of the two of them, and Amon put his hand back on her hip. "Smile," he said, sounding irritated. "_Try_ to look more than sullen."

The first question was offered in an unusually orderly way. The crowd was nearly utterly silent, something that seemed odd in comparison with the press conferences that Korra had attended in the past. Cynically, she wondered where this was all just elaborately staged. Surveying the people assembled, standing in neat assembly, she concluded that this _was_ just for propaganda. Another sign that the city wasn't as under control as he would like it to be, if he didn't trust the people to behave enough for a genuine conference.

"Is the honeymoon over for the newlyweds?" one man said. His voice was almost painfully jokey.

"We haven't had the time so far to have a honeymoon," Amon replied smoothly, turning to glance at her for a moment, "but the time ahead is busy, so perhaps we'll take a break when the bureaucracy is set up. It will happen." Korra switched off slightly, knowing that she wasn't expected to speak. All the questions were like the first, banal and superficial, as if they were headed for gossip newspapers rather than genuine reporting. She wouldn't put it past Amon to be controlling the newspapers; he'd always had good access to media. Drifting in and out between "Do you make time to eat dinner together?" and "Do you have any definite plans for future appearances?" Korra looked out across the people. The clock began to strike as it reached 11am, jolting her out of her stupor. The person speaking had gone quiet as it chimed, waiting for it to finish, and in the silence that reigned, nobody could help but to miss the shout from somewhere near the front.

"HOW LONG DO YOU THINK YOU'LL BE IN POWER, TYRANT?"

Korra jerked as an enormous gust of flame that rose somewhere near the back of the crowd, watching the pillar of fire be joined by a column of earth and then a beautiful arc of water rising above everything. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something unfurl, and twisted to see gigantic poster after gigantic poster rolling down the walls of the buildings either side of City Hall. They showcased sections the bright colours of each nation bleeding into each other in a large circle. The centre was a rendition of the iconic Yue Bay. The only writing was, in the traditional style, the two characters for _freedom_ blazoned across the bottom and top. Her skin tingling, Korra remembered the descent upon the pro-bending arena, and grinned without fear as the rebels turned the meeting on its head.

The crowd, so quiet moments ago, was now going to pieces. People were moving about in restless worry; the bending show had come from the back, so nobody was willing to head that way—but it was the only exit. They milled about like koala sheep, noise rising into panic. Amon, who had been watching the spectacle with unbridled fury, seized the mic and said, "Do not panic. Stay calm and don't move," in a voice that undeniably carried anger over composure. He beckoned the Lieutenant over, pushed the mic away and hissed, "_Find them_. If anyone resists, kill them. It will be a tragic accident incited by bending aggression." The Lieutenant nodded, producing his kali sticks, and beckoned forth a group of Equalists.

Shows of bending were now emerging seemingly at random from multiple points in the crowd, which accordingly panicked. In the confusion of milling, fleeing people, Korra couldn't pinpoint where any of it was coming from. One moment it was to her right and near the front, the next moment it was more in the centre, and then it was at the right and to the back. Amon swore, the first time she'd heard him curse, and she looked to him. This was anarchy, and it was fantastic and planned and resistance, but he was terribly, terribly angry. She suspected that she knew who that anger was going to end up being channelled through.

The sound of a chant was emerging amongst the chaos of screaming and shouting, a mantra that grew and grew out of the people. Korra's skin prickled. There must be far more of the resistance than she could have ever thought in there, to make _this_ sound, this war cry.

"Freedom," the people shouted, and it swelled up and passed right through her. Tears in her eyes, determined and angry and proud, Korra rushed forward to the bars. Amon made a grab for her, but she dodged him with ease that came only from adrenaline. Her hands locked onto the bars, and she clambered onto them in a frenzy, standing on top of the rail.

"_FREEDOM_," she shouted back, throwing her arms into the air, knowing that she was far past the point of no return.

* * *

It was only once they'd dragged her back inside and unceremoniously dumped her in her old cell, locked and barred the door and left her to herself that she thought for the first time of the personal consequences that her actions might have. With a dreadful gasp, she clapped her hands over her own mouth. _Next time you defy me like this, I will have one of them killed. Is that clear?_ It felt as if her stomach had dropped out of her body. No. No. _No_. She hadn't thought, caught up in the intoxication of clear, open rebellion. For a second, she'd felt like the Avatar again. Powerful and strong, at the eye of the storm, and she'd let it get to her head and not for a second thought of everyone else.

She pulled her knees up to her chest and shrank in on herself. Someone was going to die because of her. Would it be Mako? Would it be Bolin, or Tenzin, or one of the—she couldn't think about, it was impossible. Why hadn't anyone come yet to tell her who would be executed? Maybe they were going to let her squirm for as long as possible, starve her and weaken her again. She'd just begun to regain some strength and muscle with even the irregular meals they'd been giving her. Starvation was far more painful that she had ever thought it might be_. Someone was going to die_. Exhausted and weak, she curled up on the hard slat that passed for a bed, and slept. Being awake was unbearable.

The quiet squeak of her door opening awoke her, and she jerked up with the ease of habit from paranoia only to see a hooded person in the door. Underneath the hood, Asami looked out at her, smiling wistfully. "Hello," she whispered, "I don't have long, Korra, but I needed to see you." The first bit of gentleness opened up the floodgates, and Korra began quietly to cry. "Oh, come here—I'm sorry, you should have been warned, but I didn't have time to get you a message. It was big, though, wasn't it? And not one person got captured. It was a _victory_, Korra, and we never expected you to leap in like that, something we never could have hoped for." She sat down on the slat with Korra, who hesitantly held onto her.

"He'll kill someone," Korra sobbed. "He'll kill them because of what I did—Tenzin or Lin or Pema or the kids, and it'll be all my fault." Asami was silent for a moment, and Korra took it as her trying to think how to apologise, or how to deal with it. She was surprised when Asami replied decisively,

"He can't."

"He… can't?" Korra said thickly, her nose running horribly. Asami fished a tissue out of her breast pocket and offered it to Korra, who took it gratefully and blew her nose quietly, feeling disgusting. "He said he would if I didn't do what he said, and then this…"

"Korra, I think Amon's been giving you the information he wants you to hear," Asami said firmly. "He _can't_ kill Tenzin, Pema or the children, because they're the last airbender family in the world. They're far too well known. The city is under the impression that they're safe, under house arrest on Air Temple Island. And—oh wait, I'll tell you that in a second. If he killed defenceless children, even supporters would rise up. And Lin, she's too high profile as well. The city's already suspicious that she hasn't been seen in a while… questions are being asked, and they're not being answered, and people are starting to think about that. And of course, Mako and Bolin, you were in the pro-bending _championships_, you nearly won. He just can't kill anyone of those people. He's made a bluff that I don't think he was expecting you to call him on."

Korra sat there, barely daring to hope, taking it in and turning it over in her mind. It… made sense. Considering the state of an orchestrated press conference today, it made sense that he wouldn't be able to kill them… There were already riots. If he murdered defenceless prisoners and it got out then he'd be in serious trouble. Slowly, she calmed down. It seemed dangerous for Amon to bluff, though. He must have thought that she was so submissive that she'd never cross it. She breathed in anger. She wasn't the beaten little girl that he thought she was.

"Okay," she said, her voice still thick and trembling. "Okay. Have you got anywhere with getting them out?"

Asami held up a hand and extended one finger, tapping it against her leg. "I found Bolin first." For a moment she was quiet, frowning. "I didn't expect them to look that bad. I didn't think that he'd really hurt them. If I'd known, then I never would have…"

"It's okay," Korra said, grinning weakly. "You're making up for it."

"I know. I'm going to show them that I'm not a helpless little rich girl," she said, steel in her voice that Korra would never have expected from Asami. "I'm not 'Miss Sato'. I'm Asami." She looked down seriously at Korra. "I'm going to help you, and we're going to _win_. I know where Bolin is, and Mako too," she added, flicking up more fingers, "I've seen the kids and talked to them—they're safe, Korra, I know the person who's in charge of taking care of them, and he's a good person." She rubbed at her forehead. "There are too many good people in here who don't really know what they're doing. I think Lin's being kept somewhere else; I didn't want to push my luck… and Tenzin. Korra, _Tenzin_." She was undeniably excited.

"What about Tenzin? Is he okay?"

"He's being kept somewhere special; I found this out a while back but I never had a chance to tell you. I was talking to my friend, the one who's in charge of the kids, and they seemed so shifty about him when I asked—just making conversation—and I did little snooping of my own. He's not in a regular cell like this; he's locked up with much more stringent security, Korra, because _he's got his bending back._"

Korra shot up from lying on the slat. She'd thought about her bending plenty of times, but assumed that the process would be hard and long and that the answer would require a trip to the spirit world or that spiritual stuff that she wasn't so good at. She'd thought that as the Avatar it would probably just be her who'd figure out how to get it back. But if Tenzin had found a way to get his bending back, then that meant that other people might have as well. She breathed in, expression alight with the possibilities.

"I have to go now, but I hope you're feeling a bit better," Asami said, getting up and then stooping down to kiss the top of her head. "I'm working with the underground—there's a whole underground already, an organised resistance working to undermine the Equalists. We're working for a future that's genuinely equal, and you're _such_ a part of that. Never lose hope, Korra." She smiled gleefully. Korra smiled back, and tried to stifle the loneliness that rose as Asami left, the door shutting quietly after her.


	7. SEVEN

Okay so when I said I wouldn't change events to fit the finale I underestimated my streak of perfectionism. It's small, but it pops up every so often and _won't leave me alone. _Funnily enough—THANK GOD—I don't think anything contradicts the show in earlier chapters. Please let me know if it does, I would be grateful! I kind of like my original theory better (it's neater and means that Korra achieves on her own) but you do not have to agree—it's up on tumblr if you'd like to read my original version.

* * *

**SEVEN**

* * *

Korra snapped out of sleep as the door opened to see the familiar figure of Amon in the frame. "Good afternoon," he said, nearly politely, as the door slammed ominously. She licked her lips, her mouth very dry. No food had come for a very long time. No drinks had come either, and her head was swimming.

"Afternoon," she said. If he was playing the courteous role, then she knew this routine. It was how their lunches went, when he liked to pretend that they were seriously married for whatever twisted reason. However stressful this dance around the truth was, it was better than when he well and truly lost it.

"Have you had some time to think?" he inquired, standing in the middle of the room. He wasn't even _doing_ anything and his presence filled the room to the point of being stifling.

"Yes," she replied quietly, fiddling with her clothes. They were a good bit dirtier and nastier since she'd put them on. They were probably irredeemable. Not that she cared about clothes, anyway…

"Good," he said, and then he just stood there, looking at her. Her skin prickled with the tension. The long silence was broken far after it had become uncomfortable. "Do you hate me so much?" he asked, merely sounding curious. "Enough to risk the lives of your loved ones?" _Asami said he couldn't hurt them_, she chanted to herself. _He's trying to scare you. Don't give in. Act. _"I suppose you doc." He was being obscenely casual, and it was hurting her chest. "But I've said multiple times now that I could be good to you. Is that not enough? What were you going to get that was better? A life of drudgery, fighting over petty squabbles about other people's problems, chasing after that boy like some shameless…" He seemed genuinely unhinged this time in a way that he hadn't before—the times that had come before, she'd been sure that it was the desire to hurt that drove him, the need and want to lash out and hurt coupled with an unhealthy fixation on her. But this time he seemed… injured. _Hurt_. And far more dangerous because of it. There was no vulnerability in his stance or in his tone, but the power he usually exuded had deflated somewhat.

"Would you like to know who I am?" She looked up, startled, and he removed the mask, placing it on the bed. "I'm not burned. I know you've wondered. Why? Why lie? It allows me to be faceless to my enemies, of course. That has been undeniably helpful. It also means that I am only a figurehead of a movement. If I were to die, someone else could pick up my skin and carry on my legacy." Korra stared. Did he really mean skin? If it had been anyone else, she would have probably said no, but that all too intense expression on his face added a creepier dimension to it. "I come from nothing. I _was_ nothing. When I walked amongst these people faceless, raw, I saw it all…. I saw the benders' dominion over the non-benders. It only confirmed what I already knew. I saw the poverty in the slums and the Triads pulling the life from everything. When I became somebody, I knew what I had to do. I learned. I took nothing on from spirits, fickle creatures. I spun a pretty story for the masses. I gave up earthly pleasures to further my plan and dedicated my life to ridding the world of the benders.

"I saved this city," he said, gazing at his hands, eyes slightly too wide. "I saved all the people in this city." He looked up at her, anger beginning to kindle in his expression. "I rescued them from the bending oppressors. Why do they hide these tyrants?"

"Because they're not tyrants," Korra snapped before she could think about what she was saying, sitting up rigidly. "They're mothers, and fathers, and sisters and nephews and friends and children and grandparents. You can't take bending away from people. Sure, the Triads are evil. Why don't you fight the Triads, then, instead of _ordinary people_? It's not the bending that's bad; it's the people who use it! You can't just fight everyone for what some people have done, it's not right!"

He slammed a fist right beside her head against the wall hard enough to make a sickening noise of impact. She nearly screamed with surprise, tense and rigid and furious. "_Be quiet_," he said in a tone that was very, very dangerous, and she obeyed, expression mutinous. "The very existence of bending is a danger," he hissed, far too close to her face. "It's too much power for any person, too open to corruption." He leaned away, groaning, and she saw that his hand was bloody and grated from the rough surface of the wall. It must hurt viciously, and yet he was shrugging it off as if it was nothing. He had shot right past unstable into terrifyingly unhinged, and she was _locked in a room with him_. It was best to shut up and not let her temper take over, so that there was a later for her temper to take over in. "No human being should wield that power.

"All benders are a sickness on this land. Look at what they've done. Centuries of oppression—the famous Phoenix King, the council, you yourself… I cleansed this place of that sickness and do the people thank me? They rise against me… they rise against their rightful ruler. And _you_," he said, looking at her in that way that made her want to crawl away and never come out again, "you. You crept inside my head, and now you won't _get out_. I think about you at utterly inappropriate times. How you feel, how you cry, how you look at me. I _can_ be good to you, but even when threatened with the lives of your friends you refuse to behave."

Korra sat there grimly. For once, the fear wasn't climbing up her insides. She felt angry. _This_ was the man who'd led the revolution. He was so immensely powerful and well-spoken in public, and _this_ was what the inside of his head was like. He _had_ spearheaded a revolution and so he _must_ be brilliant. To mastermind the takeover an entire city required immense wit and intelligence, channelled through this twisted form. She knew that he was clever, having experienced the attack on the pro-bending arena itself, and that attack in the night, ugh, that attack in the night. How was he this twisted inside?

"I won't harm your friends if you just _behave_," he said, and her gaze flickered. Was this his way of getting out of the called bluff? "It would pain me to have you locked up. Why can't you come to have, at the very least, a tolerance for me?" He seemed to genuinely expect an answer, looking at her intensely, and she struggled for a moment with something to say.

"Because you hurt me," she said, croaking hoarsely, tensing as she waited for his reply.

He swung in without warning, inches from her face, placing his hands either side of her head again. "I don't have to," he said, "if you don't provoke me. Why don't you understand that if you simply behaved, I wouldn't have to hurt you?" He kissed her again, forceful and brutal. His hands tangled in her hair hungrily, his lips moving across hers as if searching for something. After a moment of her sitting there stonily, he withdrew. "Am I that repulsive to you?" he asked. She didn't reply, starting ahead. Her heartbeat was racing at a speed that seemed unnaturally fast, but she was going to let him see that she was afraid.

He made a guttural groan-growl, and picked the mask back up. "You can remain here for the time being, then," he said. "Perhaps solitary confinement without food will adjust your priorities."

* * *

Korra slept, and dreamed. She dreamed that her mother stroked her hair gently and held her in her lap as if she was a small child again. She dreamed of Master Katara, showing her a beautiful waterbending move. She dreamed of disjointed images from her waking life—Amon drifted in and out of them, but food featured more often than not. Her family, her friends, her adopted family joined her. One moment she was in a place that she knew to be Ba Sing Se, the next she was down in the lowest parts of Republic City.

She awoke at last to the door opening again and someone who must be Asami emerging through it, cloaked as she had been last time. Her luxuriant hair was tucked up right underneath the hood, not a strand escaping, and even her usual make-up wasn't applied. She was no less pretty, but… different somehow. Korra supposed that was the point. "Amon's getting careless," Asami murmured, holding out a still steaming meat bun. "Eat slowly," she added sternly, "I know you haven't had anything to eat in days. You can't be sick. Take it slow. He's _really_ getting careless. There aren't even any guards posted… I suppose to him, there's no way that you could get out, but still, it's good for us." She sat with Korra, picking up the empty water container by her side and giving it a shake. "When did they last refill this?" Korra shrugged. She had no idea, in the state of consciousness she was usually in. "I brought you plenty, but like the food, you need to take it slow."

Asami clucked like a mother hen, looking her over. "You're so skinny, just like the others. If the public could see you now…" Carefully finishing the bun, Korra reached for the drink. It took a herculean amount of effort to go slowly and not guzzle it all. Her throat was unbearably dry. It was so good, though. Food and drink had become such luxuries somewhere along the line. When she was halfway through the container, Asami presented her with another meat bun, which Korra accordingly devoured. For a while, there were only the ugly, desperate noises of starved fulfilment. Korra winced at the noises she was making, but her social conditioning was far overcome by hunger. As the ache in her belly subsided a little, she began to take her time more than forcing herself to go slowly, and became calmer.

She sighed, heartfelt, and smiled earnestly at Asami. "Thanks. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"It's not over yet," Asami said, giving her a wink. "Put these on. I'll turn my back." She produced an entire Equalist outfit from the bag, complete with a head covering. Grinning, Korra gladly shimmied out of her filthy clothes into the comfortable, if slightly snug, ensemble.

"Okay, done," she said, pulling the head covering over. It was a little claustrophobic inside, but nothing that would make her panic. "Where are we going?" Asami offered her an arm, which Korra linked hers through without hesitation.

"To visit an old friend," she replied, her grin wicked. Korra grinned below the fabric across her face, feeling a little bit herself for the first time in… too long. They stepped out into the corridor cautiously at first—it would look the tiniest bit suspicious to stroll out of the prison cell. Korra did wonder for a second if Asami was sure that nobody would come along while they were out and discover her escape, but the sick, anxious feeling that rose to that thought was so nauseating that she decided to just trust in Asami and hope that that had been planned around.

In that gear, they moved through the house easily. Korra was constantly on edge when they met the first few people, until Asami whispered gently for her to relax. After nobody screamed "fake!" or seemed to even care that much about them, she slowly released her tension. She tried to remember the confidence with which she had moved in the past, and let herself expand from her shrunken fear. Gradually, the shift from military appearance to more residential changed back, and they were in an area that was purely violently functional once more. They'd taken multiple flights of steps down, and the air was stale and cold. Almost nobody passed them down here, and those who did had a look of grim duty. Some were in the same uniform that she was.

Eventually, Asami reached one particularly heavily fortified door, and reached into her pocket. She produced a substantial key which she inserted into a lock. Korra had had enough of locks for a lifetime, and winced at the noise. On the other side was an ante-room of sorts, a tiny hall. Another, even more imposing door lay ahead, flanked by a guard on either side. Korra jumped, looking to Asami worriedly. The other girl didn't seem concerned at all about the two, simply nodding to them.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey," the woman said. "You haven't got that long; you took your time getting here. Half an hour at most. Is it seven thirty tonight for the meeting?" She was burly and business-like, holding out another key to Asami, who took it with a murmur of thanks. The man didn't seem look like he cared at all what was going on, crossing his arms and ignoring everyone.

"Okay, and thanks," Asami said absent-mindedly. "Give us some warning for timing, would you?"

"Sure." As the lock clicked, both guards reached out and placed their hands on the door. It clicked again, and slowly swung open. Korra looked in curiously to see who it would be, and gasped.

"Tenzin," she said, stepping forward and then running forward to throw herself bodily into his arms. He was startled out of his meditation, blinking once and then more, again and again.

"Korra?" he asked incredulously. "No—it can't be—it's not really… Korra?"

"It's me, Tenzin," she said, nearly smiling. "It's so good to see you." He had that serenity still that he'd always had; Tenzin, out of all of them, seemed to have retained his dignity and his own character the most. He'd been _meditating _as she'd come in, which was almost enough to put a grin on her face. But he must be so worried—had he seen his family in weeks, months? "And Asami," she added, glancing back to her partner in crime, "she's helping us."

"It's good to see you too," he said, patting her on the shoulder. "I've missed you. I've missed you all. Where are your other friends—have you seen the children? Have you seen Pema?"

"Have they told you anything?"

"Nothing," Tenzin said grimly, crossing his arms. "I made an escape attempt and I've been locked up in here ever since. Only food comes."

"That's kind of better than what they told me," Korra muttered, thinking of all the death threats—but did she really have the right to decide what was better? Who was she to say that Tenzin had suffered less than she had? The gnawing anxiety bit at her stomach, and she steered away from that line of thought. "Asami says the kids are fine, they're being taken care of by someone who's all right. Pema… I don't actually know—Asami?"

The other girl stepped forward, bowed elegantly and respectfully to Tenzin and stood there resting her hands in her pockets. "Your wife is all right, sir. She gave birth to a healthy baby boy, and she's being kept under loose guard in a medical facility onsite." The relief in Tenzin's face was undeniable. Some shadow lifted, and he became more business-like.

"I'm guessing there's a plan to escape," he said seriously. "Of course, I'll be a plan of it." Korra glanced at Asami.

"We haven't got that far yet. I… Tenzin—have you got your bending back?" she asked in a rush, irrationally afraid that the answer was going to be no despite all that she had heard. In reply, Tenzin stood up, and moved through a stance to produce a powerful gust that whooshed around the room, stirring up her hair and blowing most of Asami's right into her face.

"At first, they put me in here, and drugged me so that I couldn't bend, but I noticed over time that I was becoming more and more lucid… I suppose that was your doing," he said, with a gracious nod to Asami, who shrugged.

"No problem, sir. Glad to help."

"I need to get back my bending," Korra said awkwardly, blurting it out before she lost all her courage. "Would you… I need help. I don't know how to do it."

Tenzin's expression became tender and worried. She looked away, unable to see that. "You've gone all this time without your bending? Of course I'll help you get it back, _Korra_…" He took her into a gentle hug, which she remained in for a second or so and then twisted out of, rubbing at the back of her neck. "How much time do we have?"

Asami checked her watch. "Not long, I'm afraid… fifteen minutes or so."

"Right. Sit down, Korra. Close your eyes." She obeyed, heart racing in excitement and fear. What if she wasn't good enough to get her bending back? What if she couldn't do it? What if it was just Tenzin, if he was special in some way and she wasn't? She tried to chase away the fears and calm her beating heart into relaxation. It looked like regaining one's bending required meditation and quiet, the prospect of which had her stomach sinking instantly. Great. Two things she was awful at right from the start. "Breathe deeply, and calmly." Focusing solely on her breathing helped, but her head still span. It had become a very anxious place over months, and she only realised in moments when she was trying to be quiet. Still, those times of meditating in Amon's room had paid off a little bit. She wasn't as terrible as she had been at Air Temple Island. The stakes were a lot higher here, though.

"What Amon does is through the head," Tenzin murmured. _It's your head_, Korra thought. Asami had been right, whoever she'd got that from. "It's not energy bending, that much is certain, but I honestly don't know what it is. I've never experienced this sort of thing before. To get my bending back—well, I meditated"—Korra grinned; of course—"profusely, alone in this cell… there wasn't much to do… and when I got desperate, I remembered what my father had told me and a tale Iroh, the Dragon of the West, told me when I was a little boy—the Spirit World and their journeys there. I managed, after days, in desperation, to get to the Spirit World."

"Does this mean a lot of meditation?" Korra interrupted dolefully, trying to conceal the real, pure, overwhelming relief that was rising through her. She'd cried a lot recently. She didn't want to cry in front of Tenzin over something like this, something that he seemed to have found easily. Logically, she _knew_ that he wouldn't care—he'd held her as she'd cried before, after all—but already, she must seem so different to him. That twisted brokenness that had wormed its way inside her and cracked her apart from the inside was repulsive, and she couldn't let him see it.

Tenzin chuckled. "It means quite a bit of meditation, but it should be different for you; you are the Avatar after all, Korra, even if you find the spiritual side of things difficult. You have a—a hot line to the Spirit World, essentially, though working past the fear and anxiety that keep you trapped to this earth will be difficult. The fear of never regaining your bending, fear of being powerless without it, all that anxiety contributes to the block that will keep you from overcoming. To work through that requires effort, and time, especially in this situation. But you're a strong young woman, Korra, and of course you'll be able to do it."

He smiled, strained but sure. "In the Spirit World, I met my father. It might not be quite as simple for you, Korra, just being given your bending back; as the Avatar, Aang might want to pass on the knowledge of energybending to you, so you can help others, but get into the Spirit World, or the Avatar State—make contact with Aang and you'll see what you need to do.

"If you could relay this somehow to Lin, I'm sure she'd be able to as well; she's an earthbender, so I doubt she's approached it from this side, but she'll understand if you explain it. For the average person… I don't think it would be possible without careful help, but Lin was very close with my father. She'll understand." A tremor ran through Korra at the idea of three of them regaining their bending. That would be a start—and they'd need to circulate this to the people, as well, Asami could do that—and if the Dai Li arrived they'd have a specialist force _and_ organised rebellion—would the Dai Li know how to fight mecha, though? It would be all very well to have them arrive with their traditional earthbending at a loss in fighting new weapons…

"We need to find a way to fight the mecha," she said, rubbing at her chin thoughtfully. "They're the greatest weapon against the benders at the moment… and taking out the Equalists…"

"There's a method of redirecting lightning that Fire Lord Zuko passed down," Tenzin said, shrugging, "but I don't know if it would work against those gloves. Perhaps if we could destroy them… And the populace needs to regain their bending—I assume that would be your area, Miss Sato, if you can organise getting key people to Korra without being detected. If it's impossible then it is, perhaps, not absolutely necessary in this state of war, but that would be ideal…" Asami nodded politely, looking up from her fixation on the floor.

"Asami, please," she said affably. "Not Miss Sato. There's an easy way of tracking down benders who've had their bending taken away. There's a list."

"A list?" Korra asked, frowning.

"They're registering all the benders in the city. It was one of the first laws they passed," she explained, grimacing. "Of course, nobody wanted to, but there are serious penalties if you're caught harbouring an unregistered bender; it's one of the reasons so many people went into hiding and we already have an organised underground. So it has people's residences, their names, ages, that sort of thing. I can start working on that. I have a lot of allies," she added, a satisfied smile appearing. "I can get to the list."

"Excellent," Korra said. "I'll working on getting my bending back, Asami'll organise Lin, and the other benders in the city, and Tenzin… we can't really do a lot for you at the moment, but we'll fill you in on any plans—if you could think of ways to deal with the mecha, that would really help."

"Of course." For a second, he was quiet, and simply scrutinised her face. "I know you've suffered, Korra," he said quietly, hesitantly, "but I want to say how proud I am of you, and how proud Aang would be, will be, how proud everyone will be when they find out—that you didn't give up, and you're fighting from the inside. I _know_ that your parents would be proud, and after this is over, because it will be over eventually, you will always have a place on Air Temple Island to heal and to recover from this—"

Wordlessly, biting back the tears, Korra flung herself into a hug. They stayed there for a moment, clinging on with a bond that went deeper than shared plans, than a teacher and a mentor, than two lonely, afraid, starved people holding onto a small expression of love in the darkness.

_Some friendships transcend lifetimes._


	8. EIGHT

Very tired but I love you all lots, you are the best and here is your chapter (it is weirdly hot in England, I have sunburned my nose awfully, but sitting down and writing in the cool indoors is very nice and relaxing)

* * *

**EIGHT**

* * *

Korra meditated, alone in her cell. She tried to ignore the grumble of her stomach, the pain of the cold, and sink below that to something deeper. To her delight, she was largely succeeding in overcoming the physical realities of her situation. She could _feel_ how disturbed and anxious she was all over now that she was trying to push past it to the Avatar State. Her chest was a swirling morass of anger, fear, blocked up breathlessly.

The first time she attempted to sink down to a lower level of consciousness, she spasmed with sudden pain.

_It was the first night and he wasn't letting her go, she was weak and tired and he was on her like a ton of bricks and it _hurt_, it _hurt_ and she was trying not to but she was sure that she was crying and he liked that, she was going to rip his face off his skull if he'd just _stop—

Korra jerked back to the reality of her cold, empty cell, and stared emptily at the floor. If this was what it meant to get to the Avatar State… how could she? She couldn't—you couldn't—it wasn't something to step over and go, 'well, that's all right then'. There was no easy way out of this, out of how he made her skin crawl and her heart shrivel up the moment he touched her, how she'd given up trying to beat him off because it never _worked_ and he only hurt her more instead. This fear wasn't an illusion, it was real and present and she didn't think it could be worked through—

She took a deep breath and drew her knees up to her chest. Her chin rested on her knees, arms going around her legs to hold on tightly. She didn't know much about getting over or through these things. For sure though, she definitely wanted to live. _That's a start_, she thought dubiously. The times that she'd wanted to die were back at the beginning, when she'd been determined to fight and every single time, and still now when she got her hopes up and it happened all over again and he'd overpower her as if she was nothing without her bending. That brought her full circle…

So she really did want to live. _That _is_ a start_, she thought resolutely. If there had been times that she'd wanted to die but at the moment she definitely didn't want to, that was motivation. She wanted to live and be happy and heal, however long it took.

She also wanted her bending back. Without it, she was seriously unbalanced, and it made her feel powerless. Her bending was what she really excelled at, what she really _loved_. So she had motivation, powerful, genuine motivation. Was that enough to overcome the fear? In a weird way, it turned out that to overcome Amon, she had to… overcome Amon. In her head. Or maybe not overcome the fear completely. She doubted her ability to do that; he was the spectre in her nightmares, the monster under the bed—in the bed—and unfortunately, much more real than all of those. But she'd already thought that he was no longer absolutely overwhelming.

That had been when he wasn't touching her, though. When he was touching her all she wanted was for it to stop. She could handle talking; when he went over the edge, when he _was_ frightening, talking at her and raving… it was when he _touched_ her. She hadn't known that you could feel so revolting, so small and disgusting inside your own skin.

_That_ was what she had to work through to get her bending back. Staring at the wall blankly, she nearly cried out of frustration. She couldn't. She really couldn't. If she had her bending back she could beat him into a pulp with all this anger but she couldn't move through that feeling that she got when he was on her, to get to her bending. It just wasn't as simple to dispel the illusions and the fear as Tenzin had made it seem.

* * *

However much later in the windowless cell, she rolled off her side and up to sitting again, looking about pensively. Maybe she was trying to look at it head on again, like she used to. None of her problems were ones that _could_ be solved head on anymore, if they ever had been. Perhaps—and it was a hideous, unpleasant thought—the key was to endure. It wasn't possible to charge through her fear. She had to acknowledge it, experience it and come out of the other side, not get rid of it. Fear was never something that you could just get rid of.

The key in this situation was to endure and come out of the other side rather than "overcoming". It went totally against her grain. It wasn't right, and she shouldn't have to… perhaps it was similar to airbending as well, not hitting things head on but dodging, allowing the hits to come but not letting them knock you over…

Korra settled into the position again, and sank into that trance state with such ease that she nearly took herself out of it with surprised pleasure. Not letting herself stop to think and the fear gather, she found the chakra again and moved to try and clear it.

"_You're _mine_"—nails raking down her back until she was ready to claw her own skin off to stop the pain—up and down, up and down dully, over and over again—hot hands moving, always moving across her—the obscene grunts—_

Korra cried, but didn't turn anyway. This wouldn't fix everything. It couldn't. This couldn't _be_ fixed, because she wasn't a machine, wasn't damaged goods or broken.

There was power in facing things on her terms. _It wasn't her fault._ Somewhere, deep down, the insidious thought had lingered that she'd brought this on herself. Every time he hit her, every time he hurt her, she'd provoked him and there was some hidden way that she was just missing that could make it stop. There _wasn't_, and that wasn't her fault. She cried harder, aware distantly of tears running down her cheeks. Her nose stopping up drew her out of the trance, and she switched carefully to breathing through her mouth.

She cried for a very long time, curled up on the floor of the cell. The scenes playing out in her head had finished, but she sobbed on for the only reason of the misery lodged physically in her chest. It was heavy, and it hurt, and her breath came in loud, hysterical shrieks until she was less breathing than hyperventilating, noisily and painfully—then the crying came back because of how she _sounded_, the real representation of how miserable and hurt and lonely she'd been all this time. Her nails dug into her own arms viciously, and she sawed back and forth as if she could bodily rip the pain out.

She didn't finish so much as subside over a long period of time. Her head hurt as if it would burst, and her nose had run right onto the floor, and at one point she thought she might have choked on her own snot, and her eyes ached, so tired. She didn't feel better. Just… kind of empty. Maybe that was better. The misery that had been carried along with her for so long had slowly and painfully been washed away for the moment. There was a calmness to her that hadn't been there before.

"Korra," he said, and she opened her eyes so quickly that they nearly started running again.

"Aang," she said, snuffling and swiping ineffectually at her still running nose. It was a lost cause, she thought dismally. She was going to be covered in snot until Asami came, hopefully with a cloth or a napkin or something. "Hi…"

"I am so proud of you—it was only when you had worked through your situation yourself, reached a state that nobody else could give you, one that required pain and work through _your_ power, the power that's inside you, only then—" He cut himself off, with a self-deprecating grin. "Korra, do you choose to regain your bending?" he asked softly, and she nodded, unable to trust her voice. "I'm going to show you how to energybend so that you can restore what's been ripped from people back to them. In the time before the Avatar, they didn't bend the elements, but energy itself. You bend that energy…" He showed her how, and she waited patiently, on the edge for her bending. She was so close, so afraid that it wouldn't work—and then he laid his hands on her gently, and the room filled with a glow so intense that she closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, he was gone. She dared to hope. Reaching deep inside, she stood up. Her feet stood into the stance without any conscious order, her hands ready. Decisively, powerfully, she struck forward with a shout, hoping, hoping, hoping for the fire to come.

She wasn't cold in that cell any more.

* * *

"Hello," Asami sang, opening the door. "He's in a meeting, and he'll be there for a while, so we should be fine for ages." Korra met her eyes, a tiny smile growing, and breathed steam. Asami nearly dropped her packages, rushing forward to clasp Korra's hands exuberantly. "You did it!" she cried. "Well—of course I knew you'd do it, but—oh, Korra! This is good. This is _so_ good." She rushed back again to where she'd set down the packages, and began to open them. The smell of hot food drifted out, and Korra's stomach rumbled accordingly. She ate very well, taking the time to savour her infrequent meals. "I got to see Lin," Asami went on, "it was a bit more difficult, she's in a different part of the building—seems to have been left alone for the most part, she's been left out of the loop but I filled her in—and she got it like Tenzin said she would. I suppose they're older, they're masters, so they're more in tune with their spiritual side." She took a smaller bowl of food for herself, and picked up her chopsticks delicately to eat.

"I mentioned the Dai Li to her briefly as well, because they're earthbenders and I wondered if she'd know anything about them. Did you know that her mother reformed them after the war?" Korra blinked, and shook her head, mouth full of food. "It's the only reason they're still in existence after their part in the fall of Ba Sing Se; Lin told me all about it, it's fascinating. They were founded by Avatar Kyoshi, and I guess all that history, all that talent, Toph didn't want to see it disappear. They're not allowed to get involved with politics any more, so Lin wasn't sure if they'd come, but I think this is less political than something that threatens all benders. And I thought if we had a team of elite earthbenders, maybe we could _sink_ the mecha. They're impressive, but I don't think they could get out of being trapped in the earth. New bending forms come out of necessity anyway, don't they? If it gets desperate, someone might be able to bend platinum… what?" she asked, noticing Korra staring open mouthed at her.

Korra snapped her mouth shut, and quickly chewed on all the food so that she could speak without speaking morsels at Asami. She folded her hands into her lap, twiddling her thumbs. "It's just that… you're doing _all this_, so much, organising everything, organising everyone, and I just think—what would I have done without you—and when I first met you I didn't even like you that much for really pointless reasons and now you're—you're a… you're a really good friend, Asami," she finished, her voice tiny. She had no tears left after earlier, but she felt her eyes smart. She'd made a _friend_, in the middle of all this destruction and hurting and misery. She wasn't alone.

Asami took her into a hug, and patted her gently on the back. "I'm here for as long as you need me, when you need me," she said firmly. "What the Equalists are doing, it's not really equality and I know that. Even if I agreed with them, what he's done to you personally, I could _never_ go along with this." She hesitated, pulling back. "We haven't really talked about it, Korra, and I understand if that's because you don't want to. Would you like to talk about Amon?" Korra thought about it for a long time, her throat closing up. Thinking about it to herself was one thing. Discussing it aloud was another thing entirely.

"I'm not ready for that yet," she said, staring at her lap again. "Maybe… maybe in the future. But not now. But thanks."

"Okay," Asami said gently, giving her hand a squeeze. "If you're ready to move onto strategy then, I think it's time we developed a game plan. We've been setting it up for a while, but now that you've regained your bending, Tenzin has his and Lin's getting hers, we need to focus on a date that the counter-revolution will take place. The underground needs a timescale to get organised for, locations, that sort of thing. Are you up to discussing that now?"

"Oh, yes," Korra told her, cracking a tentative smile.

They needed to co-ordinate an astonishing number of things. Asami deliberated for a long time over writing things down; it would be disastrous if they were discovered, but it would also be seriously problematic if they forgot something crucial, and she didn't have a code on hand that she was sure that she'd remember. They decided to try and remember. Asami thought she could trust her memory to remember the big things, and the underground was a big organisation. People would spot the cracks in plans, point out details they'd neglected and think from a different perspective that they wouldn't have had if it were just the two of them.

Evacuating all the prisoners was key and would be ferociously difficult. They'd deliberated long and difficult over Mako and Bolin being filled in on the plan; Asami had seen the both of them, and Mako in particular was in awful shape. She wasn't sure that he was entirely lucid, she said, pained, so it was a matter of whether he'd understand, or whether he might blurt it out. They couldn't leave the boys out entirely, though, leaving them without hope, so it was decided that they'd be visited, updated, but not given any incriminating details. Korra had a natural bias towards the people she loved, but she knew they were prisons here and those people needed rescuing if the house, the Equalist headquarters, was going to become a crucial battleground. That needed to happen before any fighting occurred. The uprising needed to be organised; it needed to be in so many places that the Equalists were spread too thin and could be taken out. Until now, riots had been sporadic, isolated; Korra and Asami planned to have a good portion of the city in revolt.

With the city in full scale rebellion, the troops would be dispatched. However competent the Equalists were, they couldn't subdue a whole city. The Dai Li would be amongst the people, hopefully working alongside the underground to co-ordinate attacks on the mecha and the Equalists. Amon himself would have to emerge, and Korra would take him on. She was resolute about that, no matter how hard Asami tried to sway her. She would fight Amon. She wasn't averse to other people helping—he was very, very able, after all—but she would have a part in it.

The bones of their plan established, Asami disappeared to send out the necessary information to the people who needed it. Euphoric, Asami popped back not much later to tell her that Lin had regained her bending; their plan was gathering steam already.

* * *

"Good afternoon," drawled a familiar voice, and Korra was startled out of fitful dozing by someone who didn't belong, something that wasn't quite right. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and squinted blearily at the man stood to the right of the doorway.

"What the…?" she said, stifling a yawn. "What? _You_—what are you doing here, you _traitor_—" Without thinking, she bodily threw herself at Tarrlok, remembering in a moment of horror that she couldn't, shouldn't use her bending, nobody could know—and then immediately freezing up when he raised his arms to put his hands on her shoulders, enclosing her. Her mind flashed back automatically to Amon—they were even about the same height, of builds close enough to make her heart palpitate in panic—and she slapped his hands before she'd even registered the action. "Get off me," she hissed poisonously.

Chuckling, with a great show of holding up his hands mockingly in the air, he stepped away. "You were the one who attacked me," he reminded her superciliously. "I come here to try and help you, and this is what I get… maybe I'll change my mind, and report you to Amon instead." That got her clear-headed attention and stomped out the urge to break him in two.

"What?" she said suspiciously. Her skin prickled. Just as things had started to go well… She'd dealt with the reality of her fear about—about—him, but the reality of the actual situation still frightened her more than she liked. Could Tarrlok tell? Was he playing off that? He'd always seemed slimy, but never actually evil until he'd joined his power to the revolution… but if he knew about the counter-revolution then he was a serious problem. He must have had his bending taken away, though, and she had hers back, so if push came to shove then she would have the upper hand. That definitely wasn't best case scenario, though, someone finding out beforehand.

"I'm here to offer my services," he said easily, maintaining uncomfortable eye contact with her. "I'm aware that you and Asami Sato are planning something big. I'd like to be part of it." She swallowed the massive, sickening lump in her throat. He could just be fishing, but—no, he was sure. She was no good at lying anyway; there was no point to playing coy. "I've been on your side all _along_," he added, slightly too earnest. "I allied with the Equalists when I saw that it was going their way so that I'd be in a position of power when need arose, Korra."

"Don't call me that," she spat. She was so tired of hearing her name come out of these men's mouths. Amon used it as a weapon, and now Tarrlok too. "I don't believe you. You just went with the side that would keep you in power."

He shrugged. "I don't deny it. But I'm here now, aren't I? I'm not above threatening you, Korra. I could report you and get this whole brave adventure shut down right now, but instead I've come to join you. If you're disagreeable to that, then I'm sure I could persuade you." Korra scowled. He was so cocky. So sure of himself. Most of the benders that had had their bending taken away crumpled, understandably so, but he went on like this, swaggering and pushing everyone out of the way in order to get to the top. When she didn't reply, he sighed. "Still making up your mind? In the meantime, how _is_ married life? As blissful as it gets, it seems, if you're plotting to overthrow your husband."

"Shut up," she snapped. "You shut up."

He rubbed at his chin, shrugging. "I seem to have touched a nerve. My apologies. The two of you seemed quite cosy at the wedding, standing so close together with his hands all over you. How does it feel to share a bed with your enemy, Korra?"

She trembled all over with anger, going hot and then cold. How _dare_ he. "You are doing a very bad job of convincing me to have you as an ally," she said, tightly controlling her rage. She couldn't afford to ruin the beautiful plans that they'd been working on before they'd even started.

"You don't have a choice. You have to take me as an ally or I'll reveal your half-baked plot to your husband. And you were the one who ruined everything here—I could have fought Amon with the council, with the taskforce, we could have won and I would have been the saviour of Republic City, but then you arrived and Amon accelerated his plans. This whole situation is _all_ your fault, and I want you to know it. You're not the only one whose life went to _shit_ after the takeover." Korra could have nearly laughed, long and loud and bitterly at that. Poor Tarrlok. She was sure that he'd suffered unbearably. "But I managed something you didn't," he added, smug as a snake. "Something even the precious Avatar couldn't." When she didn't ask, which he clearly wanted, he went ahead anyway. "I kept my bending."

Her surprise at that was genuine. "Yes, you weren't expecting that, were you? I have friends in high places, Korra, I've been telling you. You're not too bright… but you are young," he said in a way that made her skin crawl. "I managed to keep my bending; I'm on the registry as having lost it, and the Equalists are so proud and sure of their incredible system that they don't doubt for a second that I'm powerless. They're keeping me around as a relic of the old power, but the joke's on them… I'm a valuable asset, Korra. I can still bend, and I have powerful contacts. How can you say no?"

She thought. There was no easy way out of this, no real way out at all but to give him what he wanted. He was already massively creeping her out just by being there. But he was a total loose cannon; he just wanted to be in charge, to have power, and there was the very real danger that he'd just betray them anyway. While she thought, he began talking again. Didn't he ever shut up?

"If you're having trouble making up your mind," he said, losing the greasy, sleazy edge and becoming more serious, "I have a skill that you might consider a powerful strength for your side."

"What is it?" she asked, trying to sound bored. He'd turned threatening all of a sudden, and she did not like threatening from the tall, strong man alone with her in an isolated cell.

"Perhaps I should demonstrate."

"No, I don't think so, maybe you should just tell me—" He ignored her totally, raising his arms into a waterbending stance. "Hey! You're not listening to me—" Korra was abruptly cut off by her own frightened yelp as her own body stilled and then refused to move according to her. "What are you doing? Tarrlok!" Abruptly, he made a sharp movement and she slammed to the floor, onto one knee, unable to move. "You're a bloodbender," she breathed.

"Very observant," he said.

"Let me go." He didn't reply. She started to panic. "Let me _go_, Tarrlok!" No matter how hard she struggled, nothing happened. Her own blood was holding her prisoner. To her dismay, she began to tear up. Oh, she was not going to cry in front of him, she was _not_ going to. The fear rose all the same; he'd subdued her, if he touched her, if he so much as reached for she would—she would—He took a step forward, and her breath shrieked in her throat. "Don't you dare," she cried, blinking very rapidly. "Don't you _dare_." He stopped, and watched her thoughtfully instead.

"Where's all your defiance?" he asked. "You're making a stab at it, but I can tell a lot of that fire's gone. Amon is as ruthless as they say if he's got you so afraid. I'm not going to hurt you, Korra," he continued, pushing back a strand of her hair impersonally, "as long as you give me what I want. Will you give me what I want?" She spat in his face. Producing a hanky embroidered in an elaborate water tribe pattern, he wiped his face with an air of dealing with a badly behaved child. "I could turn you over to him," he said poisonously, switching tack again, "but I came here and offered you a deal personally.

"Make a decision."


	9. NINE

We're approaching our endgame.

* * *

**NINE**

* * *

Korra remained held excruciatingly uncomfortably on the floor, her muscles screaming at her. Tarrlok was growing visibly impatient. "Make a decision," he repeated, sounding increasingly irritable. "I don't want to have to push you any further, Korra, but if you don't accept my offer then you're going to have to… be removed, shall we say—" He stopped. She remained frozen, trying to make a very important decision very quickly, all too aware of the threats. "You—" he began, frustrated, abruptly cut off as he heard the sound of footsteps coming softly down the corridor. He cursed quietly, and released her very suddenly. She fell to the floor with an impact that she knew would be bruising, and hoped desperately that it was Asami coming down the corridor.

Truthfully, she knew it wasn't. That sinisterly soft tread couldn't be Asami.

Tarrlok looked around like an animal looking to flee. After a moment of visible resolution, he smoothed down his clothing fussily and stood up very proudly, putting on his councilman façade. There was no time for either of them to run now, however incriminating and strange this looked.

Amon came to stand in the open doorway, resting a powerful hand on the frame. Korra's mouth went dry at the sight of him, and she pulled herself to sitting from her place on the ground, and very nervously waited for what he would say. This had all just got doubly awful.

"Well," he said, cool and controlled. "This is odd company." Korra swallowed, knowing that calm exterior masked boiling anger, fury that would be taken out on her later. She didn't move to say anything, and Tarrlok stirred to fill in the silence.

"Great leader," he said, making a deep bow. "I hope you don't mind that Korra and I were having a little chat." She choked back hysterical laughter. Were they going to pretend to be polite to each other? Oh, this was going to painfully full of tension, this was ridiculous and unbearable.

"Why was my wife on the floor?" Amon asked, still cool. His tone was almost possessive, of all the things, and Korra scowled before managing to school her expression into something neutral. _His wife_. As if. But of _course_ Amon was possessive. It must have looked strange, though, her being on the floor… but she wasn't his wife, not in any way that counted, and that was that.

Tarrlok must have been thinking fast, because his reply was smooth and quick. "Korra was getting up to talk, of course, but she seemed a little weak—she fell." The bastard knew that she was supposed to be in isolation without food. He knew a bit too much. "I was going to help her up, but I heard you coming, and I didn't want the situation to be, ah, _misconstrued_. I hope you understand." His voice dripped with overdone courtesy. "But if I might ask, she is your wife, what is Avatar Korra doing all alone in a cell?" The stony, angry silence that greeted this served as a tip that he'd gone too far. Tarrlok bowed again. "No, never mind, it's none of my business, I'm sorry for asking. Should I leave you two alone for now?"

"The _ ex_ would be best," Amon said icily. As Tarrlok passed him in the doorframe, he turned just as there were inches between them. "Tell anyone and you know that there will be dire consequences. Is that clear?"

The other man nodded. "It's clear." He hurried off as fast as he could without actively scurrying, and disappeared from view. Korra remained sitting on the ground, waiting for the dam to burst. Her heart so fast it was drumming in her ears, and that horrible lack of breath had returned. Her chest hurt so much on top of it that it was all she could do to breathe.

"Get up." The words were absolutely poisonous. Korra got to her feet, stumbling theatrically, remembering that she was meant to be starved. Her hands dug into the slat that served as her bed, and she levered herself up, keeping a hand curled against the wall. She was as far away from him as she could get. "Would you care to explain? No feeble excuses, I won't believe them for a second."

"Councilman—um, ex-councilman Tarrlok came to see me," she said quietly. She was no good at lying. She'd have to stick to the truth as far as possible, but if she took Tarrlok down now he'd take her down with him. He'd actively promised to. "He threatened me. I was trying to tell him to back off, but he wasn't listening to me. He… pushed me down." _I was afraid_, she thought of adding, _I was afraid of him because of _you_, when I've never ever been afraid of him before and now suddenly he comes within a metre and I'm panicking because he could push me down and he could have done what you do. I was _scared_ and it's all your fault_.

"Do you expect me to believe that?" Amon murmured, moving in closer. She instinctively tried to move away, but the wall stopped her. There was nowhere to go. "What were you doing all alone with him?"

_He doesn't—?_ "You don't think that—?" she blurted out, before she clapped her hands over her mouth. _Don't say anything without thinking it through, idiot_. "I—no—I'd never—" _With _Tarrlok, she thought, stifling the urge to cackle. _The exact thing that I was so scared of the whole time_. She was so tired. She was so, so tired of these games and this power play… all this.

He moved in and slammed her against the wall so hard her head connected and cracked audibly. She managed to stifle the cry of pain, much to her satisfaction, and refused to look at him. Now that he was here, the urge to burn him or bury him was overwhelming. He couldn't know, not yet, or everything would be ruined… But knowing that she _could_ push him off now, that this didn't have to happen was a siren song that it pained her physically to stop up her ears to.

"I don't believe you," he said, angry. "I thought I could leave you here to come to your senses, and I come back to find you on the floor with… him. What does that say about trust, Korra?" She wanted everybody to stop using her name. It was dirty in their mouths.

"Nothing happened," she said dully, not sure if she'd only make him angrier by protesting. "I was… scared. I didn't want him here."

"You were frightened of a common bully like that," he said contemptuously. _Yes_, she thought. _I'm going to be frightened of common bullies like that forever now, because of you_. He leaned in too close to her face, his breath coming through the mask down onto her cheek. Both of them, intimidating her using the same tactics. She hadn't been aware of things like this, not really, until she'd become powerless. "Ask and you can return to my rooms." How was she supposed to answer that? She had much more freedom in this cell; Asami could visit, she could sneak out, but after this he'd probably post guards, which he would be unlikely to at his own rooms… Which was the better option to retain her newly found, precious, precious stab at autonomy? When she didn't answer, he actually _hissed_. His hands went around her throat and then she found her voice, struggling to speak through the crushing grip, panicking.

"I won't have you cavorting with other men," he said, cool again on the surface despite that hold on her windpipe. "You want to stay here, do you? Want to stay here so your friend can come visit again?" In a moment of dizzied panic, her mind leapt to Asami and her expression registered genuine worry. He took that as proof, leaning in all the remaining space until the hooked nose of his mask touched her forehead. He wasn't letting go of her throat. Desperately, she kicked at his legs. It was pathetically feeble. He didn't move at all. Korra choked, sure that this time he was really going to kill her. She was really going to die here, alone, because of _Tarrlok_.

Blessedly, one hand left her throat, and she breathed in glorious air urgently just in case he decided to strangle her again. "You make everything… difficult," he muttered, breath on the bridge of her nose. She blinked, trying to stay as still as possible. "I don't require you to be a dull, docile mouse, Korra, but if you keep testing my patience then eventually I am going to snap." She swallowed in a throat as dry as the desert. The snapping had yet to come? Perhaps they should advance their plan somewhat further if he was threatening to _snap_.

His hand slid smoothly up her tattered shirt. "No," she said quietly. "No," she said louder, wavering between making the decision to fight now or to keep her bending a secret—the plan would all go to hell if she revealed it now, but if she didn't—if she didn't—it would happen _all over again_—

"Shush," he whispered, and she let go.

_Endure. __**Endure**_.

* * *

Asami found her on the floor. On the damned _floor_. She rushed over, but Korra rose by herself, burning with anger. Angry that this time she could have stopped it, but she knew that she _couldn't_. She was tired of being powerless and afraid... so _tired_. She would bury the fear under anger.

"Do we have a date?" she asked. Asami nodded, still looking worried.

"Korra—" she began, clearly worried. Korra cut her off.

"When is it?"

"They said two weeks. It would have been longer, but the Dai Li are already in the city; they were smuggled in over a period of time, I don't know how much you know, but the city is in lockdown, there are severe restrictions on who's allowed in and out. They're all here, and there are so _many_ of them." Asami took her hand and guided her over to the slat. The gentleness was rubbing Korra raw, but she didn't ever want to let go of that hand. "They've already begun work—organising districts, specific places for uprisings, training the Dai Li to face the mecha, the Dai Li training earthbenders more traditional forms—Korra, it's all amazing. And you're right at the centre of it. You are _so_ important, Korra," she said, heartfelt. "I know hope is difficult right now, when he's—when—but the city loves you. I care about you. Everyone cares about you." The kindness was going to make her cry, and Korra couldn't cry right now. The end was just, distantly in sight, and she couldn't afford to break down now.

"We have a problem," she said shortly, and she filled Asami in on Tarrlok. "We need him out of the way… maybe have him disappear somehow…" She looked up to see Asami's expression carefully blank with just a hint of horror. "Not in a dead way," she added hastily, "in a really just disappearing way. He's dangerous wandering around ruining our plans, but… no, maybe that's not the best idea. He might get violent if we try to make him disappear. Asami, he can _bloodbend_. That's serious, and it means he'll be difficult to take down. If he approaches you accept his offer. Try and put him off. Tell him information that isn't important and say that we're not ready yet; the plans are still getting made. And be careful with his bloodbending—he doesn't need a full moon."

"Sounds like a piece of work," Asami muttered, running her fingers through her hair. "I never met him, but I heard about him from my dad. I thought he was working for the good of the city…" She sighed. "Then again, I thought the same thing about my dad, so…"

Korra patted Asami's hand awkwardly. "Your dad isn't your fault."

"I know," she said wryly, "it just seems—how you can be so _wrong_ about someone you've known your whole life… it's just a bit hard." Then she jumped up a little, and turned to Korra. "Not that it's that hard, I didn't mean to make it sound like my situation is worse than yours because I know it isn't, I'm sorry, I didn't think—"

"It's okay," Korra interrupted, still not prepared to talk about it. "What other plans have we made?"

"The prison break is going to be five days before the main attack, so that there's enough to hide the people, get them where they can't be found, enough time that they will have stopped expecting an after-attack. There's a special group working on it, it's pretty complex and the higher-ups have made it so that nobody knows everything, in case people are caught. I supervise, sort of, I know none of the details." She paused, looking down. "I don't mean to keep bringing this up, but this is important in relevance to the counter-revolution… Korra, I'm worried about what Amon will do to you once he learns about the prison break. We mean to break out everyone in this complex, everyone in City Hall, everyone in the police jails. It's going to be a massive blow to the Equalists. The commanders of the underground thought that you'd be able to handle yourself, but they haven't seen you, they haven't seen how he treats you and what he does to you. Korra," she said, after a long pause, "I'm worried for you. I don't want you to just be strong about this because of the city. If you need a business reason besides your own well-being, which is the most important, you're the Avatar and this city can't afford to lose you.

"Korra, there are bruises on your _neck_. Has he tried to… kill you? If he has, that time frame of five days is unacceptable, because it gives him so much time to hurt you. Maybe to kill you."

"I'll be all right," Korra said huskily, refusing to look at her.

"That sounds like being strong to me." Asami put her arms around Korra. "I mean it when I say that I care about you, Korra. I don't want _anyone_ to die in this rebellion, but I don't want you getting hurt any more than you already have been."

Korra opened her mouth and closed it, trying to find the words. She repeated the process several times, and then made a frustrated noise, scratching at her face absent-mindedly. "Sometimes," she began haltingly, "I think—it might be better if I died. I'd be… a martyr, like he said when I challenged him to a duel, and I… I wouldn't have to… any more. But I want to live. I want to live so bad. But I don't know what kind of life I… can have after this."

"I can't imagine how hard this is for you, Korra," Asami said, furious grief in every line of her body, "but if you're worried about what comes after this, I will _always_ be here for you. Mako, Bolin, Tenzin, Lin, Pema, the kids, everyone, we love you."

"But... I'm dirty," Korra said, her voice tiny and afraid. Asami had to crane in to hear. Angrily, helplessly, she began to tear up, wanting to hold Korra until everything washed away, as if it was that simple.

"You're not dirty," she said. "We _love_ you. We'll always love you. Amon hasn't made you dirty. You're still our Korra regardless of how much you've changed. Whatever that man's done to you, you'll survive and heal and have a life still. Nobody will pressure you or hurt you or make you do things you don't want to do. You don't need to be strong for us, because you're you, and that's enough. You are _not, _you will _never be_ dirty because of that man."

"As_ami_," Korra said, and her voice broke altogether from the effort of not crying. "I— thanks, I… needed that. I think… honestly… that if they need five days they should have five days. He won't kill me, and bruises—they heal."

"It's not just bruises, though," Asami said.

"No… it's not… but if I know that the rebellion's just around the corner I think I can do. It's nothing that's happened before, I can deal with it. I'd rather… endure a couple of times than have the rebellion fail because of me. After all, if it fails then I'm stuck forever anyway. Five days is fine." She cracked a weak smile. "It all seems so close now anyway, what's five more days?"

She sat up straighter and gave Asami's hand another squeeze. "I can do five more days. The rebellion's coming, and I need to be ready."

"The rebellion's coming," Asami echoed. "And we'll be free…"


	10. TEN

In which Shits Gets Real.

* * *

**TEN**

* * *

The first she heard about the prison break was the unusual amount of noise, so loud that it echoed down the corridors to her cell, which had gained a brand new lock in the aftermath of the whole Tarrlok affair. He had come to visit her a few times, unable to get in, and for once she was glad about the security in the headquarters. He was furtive anyway, which suggested that he wasn't really allowed to be in there, and she managed to get rid of him a couple of times by threatening to scream. Mainly he was just checking her information matched up with Asami's. They were keeping Tarrlok mostly in the dark. She knew from Asami that he was constantly around, but Asami had refused to take him to the headquarters and fed him the wrong information.

From the corridor, shouts echoed; fury, confusion, simple noise, she couldn't tell. There were no distinct words in the mess.

She waited, nerves jangling until she felt sick again. For comfort, slowly, forcing herself to relax, she moved through her forms. Her mind was gradually wiped clean, only occupied by the movement of her body and how she executed each form.

Time passed.

* * *

The door was flung inwards with such force that it ricocheted off the wall and right back again, and then juddered to a slow halt halfway between the two extremes. Korra swallowed. She'd decided this. She had to endure. Perhaps it was time to become distant, and go someplace else in her mind.

He stepped through, angrier than she'd ever seen him. _Five days. _Five_ days_.

He hit her so hard that she blacked out for a moment. Everything went dark and then snapped back seconds later, as if a little chunk of her life had just disappeared, like she'd blinked and missed it. She raised her hand dully to her face, running her fingers over the place where he'd connected. It hurt. An uneasy fear started up in her stomach. _He won't kill me. He can't kill me_. But looking at him as he was now, the anger nearly visibly rippling off his body, she felt a twinge of uncertainty. _He might be angry enough not to care_.

"How did you do it?" he said, so tightly controlled that she knew just how deep the fury below it was. Her whole body shuddered instinctively. The door was open… it was open… but she couldn't leave now, she couldn't escape, it wasn't time…

"I didn't do anything," she protested. Her voice came out so cracked and thin and little-girl that she thought it sounded fake. Truthfully, or at least technically, she hadn't done anything. She'd plotted, but never really acted. That was up to the other people. "I've been in here the whole time."

"You got out. How did you get out?"

"I didn't," she repeated, watching him circle and pace like an animal waiting to go in for the kill. Maybe he was cooling off. Maybe he'd had the time to think this through a bit more. She wasn't sure which was worse; the cold calculation of his controlled rage, or the messy, incoherent fury where he wasn't thinking at all.

"I don't believe you," he said, very quietly. She swallowed again. This waiting was awful. Abruptly breaking the tense silence, he lunged forward,. Automatically, crying out, she ducked. He grabbed her hair and physically pulled her back—she scrabbled to break his hold, digging her nails viciously into his hands, but some of her hair came out anyway and she was yanked right back. She kicked him in the shin. He hit her in the stomach. "You do this on purpose, don't you?" he panted, more out of breath than usual. He'd been losing control ever since the beginning and Korra knew that was a good thing for the counter-revolution, it meant more openings and cracks in the system that they could lever wide open, but goddamn if she wasn't _terrified_. _Don't kill me. Don't kill me_. _I don't want to die_. "You strike exactly where you know it will displease me. I tried to give you everything! I tried! I would have made you my equal," he said, shoving her down onto the slat. "I told you enough times for it to sink into even _your_ head, _Avatar _Korra. But you constantly, wilfully, disobeyed me. Are you worth keeping alive anymore? One more problem and I'll have you shot. Are we clear? I will have you killed. I may do it myself. The ex-Avatar will have died of some terrible, incurable disease, terribly tragic, behind closed doors. We'll allow the public to mourn for a set period of time." He laughed, ugly, unhinged.

"You're a monster," she told him softly, her whole body throbbing with pain. "A monster."

"If I am," he said indifferently, releasing her for a moment, "you created that monster. I was a great leader… I was a powerful force, I had the masses spellbound and chomping at the bit. You make this, this, come out of me." _That is not at all true_, she told herself. Filled with a reckless courage—_five days_—she stood back up, stood up straight.

"I don't think so," she said. "I think this was always there. I think this was always, always you, and you just try to blame it on me. Because even you know that this—this—it's ugly, and hideous, and horrible and twisted."

He hit her again, snapping her head back at an awful angle and making her stagger until she hit the wall. Stars danced in front of her eyes briefly. "I could stay," he announced, "but I have things to do. You'll see yet, Korra. I will have this city subdued, and the bending oppressors will be struck down forever, and I will _rule_." He swept out, slamming the door behind him.

Breathing so fast she felt dizzy, trembling with pain, legs shaking with the remnants of fearing adrenaline, Korra grinned wildly. She was elated. He—Amon, his name was Amon, she could at least think it—had stormed out, but she was under no illusions about how that conversation had gone. She'd won that round. As he decayed and lost power she rose again, fragmented and afraid but gathering strength.

* * *

She slept. Her dreams passed in their hundreds, full of strange, fantastical images from her waking life, her memory and others besides. She awoke to Asami sometimes, waiting with food in comfortable silence. She gathered her strength and with regular meals, gained back some of the weight that she'd lost. Her muscles had strengthened again in the time that she'd been in the cell.

She felt strong again, but strangely fragile. Anticipation of the day to come churned her stomach constantly, gradually making sleep more and more difficult.

She couldn't tell if it was fear or joy.

* * *

Asami stepped in for the last time, kitted out, and Korra rose out of sleep the fastest that she had ever managed. "Good morning," she said quietly. "How early is it?"

"About four," Asami replied, lugging in a bag. "We're getting the party started early. We've already had, strangely enough, four sightings of the Avatar all over the city." Asami grinned slyly. "There are going to be at least ten more before we hit dawn. _You're_ going to be seen just as day breaks, City Hall, to start the riots." She pulled things out indiscriminately, handing Korra an impressive array of breakfast and setting down other things all around. "Eat up, even if your stomach hates it. This is going to be a long, long day." Obediently, Korra reached for the steaming food and began to select bits and pieces, nibbling absent-mindedly.

Wordlessly, Asami produced something from the bag. Korra turned, and looked, and slowly, slowly smiled. She got to her feet, setting down her half eaten breakfast to take the Water Tribe clothing into her hands. She ran her hands over it. This was the real thing. This was Southern Water Tribe style. It had been _made_ in the Southern Water Tribe. She brought it to her face after a moment of looking, and took a deep sniff. And it was _hers_. The smell had been eroded, but it was still noticeably there. It smelled of home—both of them, Air Temple Island and with her parents, and safety, and life, and freedom.

"Shall I leave while you change?" Asami asked, leaning against the wall. Her smile was faint and fond.

"You don't have to if you've got things to set up," Korra said, straightening out the trousers and the shirt and picking up the boots to cradle them to her as well. She looked up into a strangely intense gaze. They were both caught there for a second, unable to move away, and then Korra coughed and looked back at the clothes. "Thanks for these, Asami. Thank you _so_ much."

"It's nothing."

"No," Korra said quietly. "It's everything." She pulled the tattered remains of what she'd been wearing before over her head and reached for her clothing as if she were coming home. It might have been ridiculous, but as each piece touched her skin she felt more and more herself. She felt more like _Korra_ than she had in months. Not as headstrong and cocky as she had been before, just a sense of settling in her own body, realigning back into knowing that she was powerful and worthy of being alive. Happiness, she named it, exploring the unfamiliar feeling. Simple happiness. Not hope, not wild joy, but contentment. "I'm ready," she said when she'd got all of it on, adjusting it a little for her weight loss so that it sat comfortably.

"Not quite," Asami told her, a teasing, mock serious expression on her face. "Eat up your breakfast. Then we'll get going." Korra stuck out her tongue, resumed eating, and patted the space beside her for Asami to sit down.

When she was finished, she straightened up, she brushed off the crumbs and tweaked her clothing one last time. "Let's do this." Asami smiled at her and offered her hand. Without a moment's hesitation, Korra took it. They moved through what must have been secret tunnels or passages, because the door was hidden behind a tapestry and they ran into _nobody_ at all. It was almost eerily silent, actually. Korra's nerves began to jangle again, having been soothed and reassured in the oddly mundane occasion of breakfast. She swallowed, and took solace in holding onto her companion. They were going to get through this, and they'd be _free_.

She could tell when they reached the usual corridors—the door was tiny and cunningly fitted into the wall almost as to be unseen, and Asami went ahead first. There was nobody about at four in the morning, apparently. Being outside was refreshing and strange. The streets were so _quiet_. Even the houses were dark. Was anybody even left in the city? Perhaps they'd evacuated just to be careful. Ahead, City Hall rose out of the darkness, and they moved into a gentle flow of people heading in the same direction. This was so different to that last time, being out in the rally, Amon holding onto her.

She squinted out into the semi darkness, through the drizzle that fell relentlessly. There were people already in the square as Korra and Asami took a different route, around the edge. How many? They were drifting about—no, they were drifting forwards to make space for those coming, their numbers increasing. People were pouring in. They were normal people, all of them, she saw with wonder. Ordinary citizens, none of them dressed up or disguised in the slightest. Young and old were present. People from all nations, some wearing clothing that fitted none of the prescript schemes. If she looked carefully, she could see people on the roofs.

Asami took a deep breath. "Okay, as soon as you step out, there's going to be a spotlight. You don't have to say anything. You can if you want, but just shouting 'freedom' will probably get them as worked up as they need to be; unless you scream, the people at the back probably won't be able to hear a speech anyway—"

"So glad that I caught up with the two of you," came that horrible, familiar, out of place voice, and Korra wheeled around angrily to see Tarrlok. "Funny that I wasn't told about this—or actually, I believe I was… only that it took place next week. How strange…" She itched to take him out, but the public was _right_ there, and starting a scene just at the moment that she was supposed to be inspiring people felt a little odd somehow. Brawling right before something much more important than kicking his stupid face in was probably foolish. Korra waited for the usual anger to rise up, and was surprised when it didn't She remained calm, her thoughts simply racing behind a diplomatically irritated expression. "You don't seem happy to see me, for some reason. Remember that discussion we had about my services? It's not too late for me to inform Amon about what's going on here, girls—"

"Oh, shut _up_," Asami said, and she leapt forward almost faster than Korra could register. Tarrlok dodged with what must have been instinct, and Asami's hands were up and moving as blurs in the gloom. Korra watched, not moving in between the two, hypnotised by the powerful movements. Asami's self-defence classes really had been something. Tarrlok wasn't even being given enough time with the speed of her hits to establish the forms for bloodbending. Then, in between blinking, he was at once upright and then slumping with a quiet groan to the floor. Korra looked over him.

"What did you do?" she asked curiously, poking at him.

"Nothing serious," Asami said, shrugging and adjusting her jacket cuffs back to neatness. "But it means he'll wake up relatively soon." She nibbled on one glove. "I knew I hadn't done a good enough job of getting rid of him, but I didn't know that he knew so _much_." She grimaced. "We have our first serious problem of the day, and it's not even light."

"I vote that we do something to make him… disappear or something. As long as he's not back later. Is there anyone here who could do something?" Asami beckoned over someone in the shadows, and had a quick, quiet, urgent exchange with them. Tarrlok's prone body was dragged away unceremoniously. Korra watched him go, her skin prickling uncomfortably. There was a bad taste in her mouth, at the moment that she should have been ready to herald the beginning of the end of the old revolution. The counter-revolution awaited.

She looked up to the sky. The sun was beginning to rise over the buildings in the distance, sending brilliant colours bleeding through the dark rain clouds. It was time. It had to be time. Once more, today, she had to be brave and then she maybe didn't have to be brave ever again. Korra breathed in deeply, once in, and once out.

She stepped out, letting the rain fall on her, and the glaring spotlight instantly snapped on. For one moment, she was impressed with the sheer organisation of these people, and then all around the walls posters unrolled once more, drowning the square in their colours. _Freedom_, they read. _Freedom_, the people murmured.

"Freedom…" the Avatar said. It was echoed by a few people right at the front, who reached out as if to touch her, as if to get close to her. She stared at the sky again, and cleared her throat. "FREEDOM," she roared, punching one arm into the air. The crowd roared as well, no one word separating out of the mass. Instead, it was simply _noise_ pushing back at her, an organic, powerful shout from the people. "THE COUNTER REVOLUTION BEGINS _NOW_," she shouted, taken over by the moment and releasing a short display of her three elements. _I hope this works_, she thought anxiously, moving into a stance that hadn't worked brilliantly in the past. _Be the leaf_. _Be the leaf_.

Pulling through her all that had happened, Korra sent a gust of air rippling through the crowd, making the banners and posters whip violently. She stood back, grinning wildly. _Yes_. Asami moved next to her, into the spotlight, holding a microphone. "You know where to be," she said. "Let's take our city back! The Avatar has returned, and we're going to take back what's ours!" The roar that answered her sent shivers down Korra's spine, and she took Asami's hand once more. They stood there together as the people drained back out purposefully. Korra glanced at the building behind them. Lights had flickered on.

"Where do we need to be now?" Asami checked her watch.

"Lin and Tenzin will be meeting you—I'll take you there, and then the three of you take Amon on. I'll be co-ordinating the people, moving from group to group. I think first of all I'm with the Dai Li… I have a meeting with their leader before we get started." Impulsively, Asami hugged Korra. "You're so brave, and I know you'll win, and we'll be sitting down and having tea and thinking back on this years from now, safe and alive and happy."

* * *

She fell into step easily with Lin and Tenzin, and they moved through the abandoned house. It was eerily silent, and Korra twitched at every noise, every creak, every simple house that echoed throughout the deserted corridors and halls. Amon could be anywhere in here. He definitely hadn't been seen leaving; all of the exits were carefully watched by the counter-revolution's spies, including the secret ones. It was possible that they'd missed some, though, surely, Korra worried. Now that the hour was upon her, she felt stretched thin. It was the moment of all her dreams. Reality never quite managed to match up to dreams.

She took a deep breath. Even if she died here, she'd started something that couldn't be stopped. The people were already in open mutiny. An already fragile regime couldn't handle this eruption of rebellion.

They were approaching his quarters now, the corridors corresponding with her memory neatly. The fight couldn't take place in this building, though, or they'd be trapped, it would be nearly impossible to bend without bringing the whole place down. She voiced the thought to Tenzin; he'd already thought of it. Of course he had. She subsided, aware that she was nit picking out of fear and anxiety.

Then, just ahead, he stepped out in front of them. The party of three stopped, and all was tensely silent.

Lin broke it, taking a stride forward. "Amon, leader of the Equalists," she said, her voice level and strong and comforting, "you are hereby placed under arrest. I haven't quite worked out the charges yet, but I'm sure we'll find what to label you with later. More importantly—resist, and we'll bring you into custody with _force_. This is your only warning." He wasn't wearing his mask, Korra noticed distantly. It was in his hand. He'd been hurrying somewhere in such a rush that he hadn't had time to put on his mask. That made him awkwardly human for a moment, but then she looked into his eyes and saw the hatred playing across his face.

"_You_," he said, completely ignoring Lin. His expression twisted into something hideous, a snarl. "I _knew_ that you were working against me—but this, _this_, it feels like… surprise. This is what you've done to me, Avatar." He straightened up, holding them all oddly hypnotised. Nobody made a move as he carefully put on the mask. "Well, you'll get your fight. I think you understand that I won't be coming willingly. I could fight all of you at once and _more_."

"This doesn't have to be hard," Tenzin said, moving forward to stand with Lin. "Nobody has to die today."

Amon ignored both of them still, only looking at Korra. "I'll take you with me," he said, deadly certain. "We're linked together. The spirits saw our union; husband and wife, joined before Republic City. If I can't have you in life, then…" His voice went eerily flat and calm. "We could have been great, Korra. We could have been great."

And then he lunged for her quicker than she could have anticipated and something collided heavily with her, setting off an explosion of pain, and then something else was there out of the corner of her eye that she recognised vaguely and that shouldn't be there—the world descended into chaos, and the only clear, simple, easy thing was the solid fear twisting in her belly.


	11. ELEVEN

I love this chapter.

* * *

**ELEVEN**

* * *

Everything snapped to order with the clarity of dread.

Amon was behind her, Lin close to Korra—flicking back and trying to make sense of it, Korra knew that Lin had knocked her to the floor, her reflexes quicker than Korra's—and Tenzin stood to the side suspiciously with his hands still outstretched in an airbending form. Whatever she'd seen out of the corner of her eye had altogether disappeared, and she didn't dare turn to see what it had been. Nobody moved for a second, and then Amon was running down the corridor with the easy lope of a sprinter.

Korra watched him go, actively panicking. As her friends rushed forward to meet the fight, she sat there, paralysed. She couldn't do this. She _couldn't_ do this. Too many things had already gone wrong, would go wrong. What happened if somebody _died_? She couldn't do this. _Of course you can_, something whispered to her. _Stand up straight. Fight. You're not just the Avatar. You're not a trophy wife. You're _Korra. Gritting her teeth, Korra stumbled to her feet, and set off after the others.

Lin had managed to push Amon a significant way down the corridor, which was making worrying noises. The ceiling and the walls had been damaged already by the fighting, and Korra cast a dubious look up at the roof as she caught up. Tenzin was everywhere at once, moving so lightly that it seemed inhuman. Lin pushed forward solidly, keeping Amon on the defensive. He too was moving in a way that didn't seem human, managing to dodge every hit. Korra burst in with a torrent of flame to push him back.

Amon beat at his now aflame clothes with a hiss of displeasure, temporarily thrown off guard. "I'm going to _destroy _you," he growled, "and I'm going to make sure that this time, you lose your bending _permanently_." The momentary distraction meant that Lin landed a hit, however brief. One of her metal cables snaked across his face, and a section of the mask cracked and slid off altogether, revealing a mouth twisted in hateful anger. Then he was on the run again, pelting ferociously down the passageway. Altogether, the three of them gave chase, propelled forward by their respective bending. Korra knew that Amon was fleeing for a reason. He wasn't the type to run away.

True enough, they spilled into a small hall where Equalists were waiting. Lin cursed, panting, and launched herself into the fight with gusto. Korra looked about wildly for Amon, and found him in the middle of the crowd, lunging once more for her. She dodged, her breath shrieking in her throat, just managing to miss a blow that would have taken her to the floor.

Tenzin and Lin were busy fighting multiple people at once. She was on her own. She'd known that it would happen this way.

His every movement was precise and brutally channelled. She raised the ground against him, the delicate flagstone paving bucking like a live animal; he managed to regain his footing in worryingly little time—but she saw an Equalist fall and quickly become ensnared in Lin's metal cables, joining the growing bodies on the floor—and jabbed at her side. The blow connected, and she cried out before she could help it. Lashing out, her instinctive reaction was a wave of fire. It singed his hood once more and he hissed in irritation. "Give in," he snarled, "you could never defeat me." She remained silent, wrenching water from a nearby fountain—destroying the beautiful thing in the process—and unleashing a rain of icicles down upon him.

Arrest was forgotten. She was fighting for her life.

One icicle hit his shoulder and he faltered with a grunt of pain. Elated, she struck forward again with an arc of fire. Amon twisted just out of range and whirled back around to brutally, inelegantly hit her in the back. It wasn't a strike designed to incapacitate, but a thuggish hit intended to knock all the breath out of her. She gasped, trying to turn in time to avoid another strike, and he was somehow already behind her again. Only an unconscious reaction was quick enough to bring the floor shooting up to protect her. He hit his hand hard on the rock, growling, and still moving forward.

Korra felt a twinge of unease. He had the advantage, and she was tiring, and the sweat was starting to drip into her eyes and sting so that she couldn't see, and she had no idea if there were any other Equalists or if Lin and Tenzin had managed to deal with them, or if both of her friends had been taken out _but she couldn't think about that right now_. As she dodged again, barely enough time to spare—his good hand grazing her side almost intimately—this fight was all she could focus on or she was going to get herself killed.

She brought her knee up high, sending the water underneath his feet up to blind him momentarily, and knew that this room was not where she was going to fight her best—and then, to make things worse, she stumbled over a prone Equalist and fell hard. Dazed, she looked up again to see Amon ripping off his mask altogether and looking around for her. She scrambled desperately back to her feet, tripping again. Trying to remain calm, she choked back an agitated cry. What now? Oh, what _now_?

_Run_, that self-preserving voice said to her. _Run_.

So she ran, and he gave chase. Lin shouted something that whistled past her altogether, Tenzin joined his voice to the general cacophony, but all she could really make out was the coarse, deranged laughter of her enemy, her captor, echoing in her ears as if it would never leave. She ran faster than she ever had before, unconsciously registering the bodies in her path and leaping over them. In the few thoughts that she managed between the burning of her leg muscles and the vague plan she had, she hoped that meant that Lin and Tenzin had managed to take down the Equalist vanguard and might follow to help.

Korra was back in the corridor where they had been before. Part of it had collapsed, and she cleared the debris out of her way with desperate, beautiful earthbending, the best that she'd ever managed. She sent some of the rocks hurtling back to where Amon was charging along behind her. He had been gaining worryingly, but the mess hit him impressively and he went down heavily for key, helpful whole seconds.

She turned a corner, keeping her map of the building in her head. Blast! She'd taken a wrong turn somewhere in the confusion, and there wasn't the time to correct her mistake. He came barrelling out of the doors she'd just burst through, and she turned to face him. This hall was larger, there was no-one in it, and it had three fountains as opposed to the one in the previous room. It might do.

"Just you and me now," she panted. "You ready to face me?"

He laughed again, that nightmarish sound playing around the room. _Good acoustics_, some ridiculous part of her that was still functioning aesthetically noticed. _Nice. _"I'll take you to task this one last time," he said, not nearly as out of breath as she was. "I'll beat you until you beg me to stop, pride or no. Then I'll teach you how a proper wife should conduct herself." He stopped to compose himself, evidently aware that he was well and truly slipping. "You can't defeat me," he repeated, "and we both know it. Surrender now, and I'll be kinder."

"I'm not your wife," she said simply, and moved into a form to start the fight again. Everything burned with pain, but she couldn't be tired now or it would kill her. Amon didn't move from where he was standing, catching her as strange—and he was looking at something behind her, just behind her head. She was prepared to turn, because this didn't strike her as a ruse, that seemed oddly petty and underhanded, and then—

Her limbs locked to her sides against her will. "_Tarrlok_," she said, gritting her teeth. He swivelled her around to see—her back being to Amon felt awfully, awfully unsafe and she prickled all over with goose bumps—and he was dishevelled, his hair down around his face in a ragged curtain, with a scratch across his cheek.

"Hello," he said, sounding bizarrely at ease. His easy tone contrasted utterly with his appearance. "Not expecting me again, Korra? Your guards—if I can call them that, callow _teenagers_—got themselves into some trouble, you might be unsurprised to hear—"

"Your presence is not appreciated here," Amon interrupted, Korra would have laughed if it were at all funny. The moment of truth, the real fight, and Tarrlok had, of course, appeared to sell them out the second he got the chance. She'd had _one_ thing to do in this. Take Amon down, that was her task, and it was proving impossible. To her surprise, she saw that Amon had drawn his hood over his head, shadowing his face—wondered why, briefly—and turned back to the matter at hand.

"But I'm here to offer you my services," Tarrlok said, a hint of a whine emerging. "The moment I found out about this I was trying to gather information for you—I tried to contact you, but I was turned away at the registry, so I thought I'd show you my loyalty now." He faltered. Perhaps this was not going the way that he had hoped. Korra tried to move her fingers while they were distracted. It just wasn't working. No wonder bloodbending was banned without any exceptions. _Just one finger, or a toe_, she thought desperately. _Something needs to _move.

"I have no need of you," Amon said shortly. "You're a remnant of exactly what the Equalists are dedicated to stamp out. How did you maintain your position in the new order? Through money, through corruption, through power that's rotten from the very core." Tarrlok's expression shifted almost imperceptibly. _You misjudged, you snake weasel_, she thought with some satisfaction. _Nobody wants you_. This did leave her with the significant problem of being held immobile with Amon _right there_, though. She couldn't even see what he was doing. _Just one chance_, she thought desperately, _a chance to take him out. A little one_.

Oh, she was going to _lose_. Lin and Tenzin didn't know the layout of this building—maybe Lin could find her with her earthbending detection, but if the cavalry did arrive it would probably be too late. She wasn't going to die here, but worse instead… right back into captivity, all alone and with absolutely no chance to escape. Distantly, she realised that she was silently crying. Tarrlok was still arguing with Amon, both tempers fraying, completely ignoring her. The rage that had been boiling since the very beginning began to spill over. She'd come so _far_. So goddamn far. This wasn't the end. It couldn't be. Steps echoed behind her, and she realised that Amon was walking over. Time was running out if she was going to do something. He was laughing. He was _laughing _at her.

Something in her snapped, and her eyes glowed blue.

She was only dimly aware of the shouts, the surprise, the calling—somebody called her name, but she shrugged it off, only aware of the rage. It was all consuming. With the ease of a hundred lives spent honing the skill, she threw Tarrlok back against the wall with a rain of flame, uncaring if he died or not. She wheeled around, hovering slightly off the ground, unseeing, and moved onwards.

The water rose out of the fountains, the ground collapsed and shivered like a living being, the air whipped into a furious tornado, and she stepped through the veil of fire to where he stood, frozen. She spoke with all the voices of her past lives. "_Your reign has ended. Your rule has collapsed. Your regime burns. Will you surrender_?"

He spat on the floor.

She ended him.

* * *

When Korra came to, the tear trails still remained on her cheeks. She couldn't figure out what had happened for a second, and stared at her blood-stained hands with wide eyes. Had she—had she killed him? Where was he? Where was the… body?

A groan near her startled her so badly that she yelped, and then turned to find him. The room couldn't help but catch her eye. It was destroyed. It was utterly ruined. She went cold all over. She'd done this. All this—she'd never meant to have this happen, she'd imagined bringing him into custody, not wrecking a building—with dread, she wondered if anyone else had been nearby when the walls had started to come down. Equalists or not, if she'd killed someone—

That brought her full circle, and she crawled feebly over to where the groans were coming from. She stumbled across Tarrlok's body on the way, and frantically went to check his pulse. He wasn't dead. She breathed deeply, so thankful. However awful he was, it wasn't her duty to unleash that judgement—killing him could never have been justified. She wondered if she should try and heal him, but that problem was solved when she discovered that she was all tapped out of her bending. A moment of panic subsided as she thought it through; she must just be exhausted. Her bending wasn't _gone_; it was just gone for a bit. It would come back with rest.

At last, after enough attempts at trying to put it off, she fell to Amon's side, unable to get up. Yes, it was his blood on her hands. He was half crushed underneath a boulder, and vomit rose in her throat at the sight. How was he still alive…? He was still moving as well, one arm restlessly creeping over the floor again and again.

Korra threw up, managing to pull herself onto elbows to do it away from the two of them, and collapsed back on the floor. "You're going to die," she said breathlessly.

He chuckled, and the sound travelled through her, they were so close. There was no joy in this. There was no joy in killing a man, even if he had—hurt her. "I'm not going to die," he replied, still arrogant, but she knew there was no real conviction in his voice or appearance. Then he coughed, and hissed, she guessed because of the pain. He was dying, horribly and slowly, and she'd done it. "Well, you've killed me, then," he said, lip curling. "I'm done for, does"—he stopped, winced, and started again—"that make you _happy_, Avatar?"

"No," she said, staring up at the ceiling. "If I had my way, you'd… go on trial, and we'd lock you up forever and ever."

"Locks can be picked," he said, forcing out each word with increasingly obvious effort, "I would have thought… it's obvious that it's—better—this way. No loose ends." He laughed, unhinged. It devolved into hacking and his nails dragging bodily across the stones in the floor to try and deal with the pain. "I should have killed you." He turned to look at her, and she refused to meet his eyes. "Look at me."

"No."

"I'm dying, Avatar. Look at me."

"I don't owe you anything because you're dying. I'm not looking at you." But she did, out of the guilt that was rising up through her. His eyes were too wide open, too intense, and they still frightened her. She sat up, looking down at him, and with one last moment that must have been excruciating, his free arm locked around her and pulled her bodily down on top of him. His lips clumsily met hers, slick and revolting with the blood running from his wounds, and he held her there, groaning. After one moment where she was too shocked to do anything, she pushed him away. He subsided, chuckling again. "Avatar… Korra. My wife. _My_… Korra…" Then he was silent, and some time later, he died. She didn't notice when it happened, and only realised when she saw his eyes staring blankly somewhere that she couldn't see. She closed his lids, the stare unbearable.

Korra turned her back on him and laid a few centimetres from his cooling body, unsure what to feel. There was no energy in her for tears. She wasn't sure that she wanted to waste tears on his death. Perhaps the senselessness of it all. Amon could have been brilliant, but he'd died with his achievements coming down around him, died horribly and slowly and painfully because of someone who hadn't even meant truly to kill him. He was revolting but vivid, bright and intense and warped and perverse and driven by a need to hurt and twist and she would never know _why_, never know what his real backstory was and who he had been and _why_.

Not knowing why was the most senseless thing of all. She'd never know if it was… her fault or not… Whether he made her dirty or if, as in her darkest fears, if she had driven him to act how he had—

She was too tired to think about that now. So, _so_ tired.

* * *

They found her asleep in the destroyed hall next to the ruined body of her captor, his blood still on her lips.

* * *

_This is not the end. I'll see you again for another update in three days._


	12. END

Thanks for coming this far with me.

* * *

**END**

* * *

She sits in her room and watches life go by outside. Not her old room, full of memories and a different Korra, but a new one. It's airy, and the sun streams through on two sides for most of the day, bathing her in lightness. A lot of the time she cries. There's not always a reason. For the first few days, just being home was enough to make her cry. Once, it was tripping over her sheet. Another time, it was not being able to finish her dinner. Food is difficult, after deliberate starvation. It takes so long to learn to love it again as something that brings pleasure rather than just relief from an ache.

Asami comes to visit every day and holds her while she cries, miserable and raw and choking. Asami wipes away her tears and hums gentle tunes to soothe her. The days slip by until Korra feels able to talk about it, and she offers up the darkest parts of her heart to be heard. How alone she felt, and still feels, unable to see any of her friends. She's ashamed. She can't see them while she's like this. Asami whispers that it's her choice when to see them, they love her no matter what, and rocks her back and forth softly.

One day she feels able to talk about Amon. Her feelings are so _confused_. She knows what he did to her, how painful it was, how miserable it made her, but the fact that she can't stop wondering if it was… _her_ somehow, if he _was_ just misunderstood—those last moments of _my Korra _haunt her—keeps her awake at night. Is she weak? She must be defective to feel this way. Days later, hiccupping in the aftermath of a particularly strong crying fit, she hesitantly shows Asami how she's been punishing herself for that by rolling up her sleeves. Asami asks what she wants, and brings new bandages every day, applying appointment and not chastising her when new scratches appear. She simply understands.

Sometimes she feels like that man was a tragedy; so clever, so determined, so driven, and he channelled that into hatred. She replays that scene again and again in her head. Could she have saved him? What would have happened? Could he have become a better person? Then she feels guilty for thinking that way about a man who ripped her apart, and her _friends_ as well, and punishes herself.

Sometimes she hates him so intensely that she screams and doesn't stop. She would kill him deliberately, consciously; finally get revenge on him for ruining her life. Even when he's _dead_, he's still so present. At those times, she practises her forms until she bleeds and bruises, feeling that it's appropriate she hurts. Sometimes she burns things but, though the temptation is strong, never herself.

Achingly slowly, she starts to get better. Her conversations with Asami tentatively begin to talk about what's happening outside her room without giving her panic attacks. She learns of the new council being set up; the city being rebuilt as a communal effort. There are malcontents, of course, and every few months there's a new scare from Equalist sympathisers, but the infrastructure is up and running and gathering steam. As much as some people sympathised with the ideas of the Equalists—the Triads too often picked on those that the law seemed to be disinclined to protect—the reality of their reign had changed everything.

Korra nearly smiles when she hears that the pro-bending arena is being rebuilt. She's sober but glad when she hears of monuments being built to those who died in the revolution and the counter-revolution, and of services being set up to help those brutalised by it. She doesn't ask how long it's been, but the time begins to gnaw at her. The Avatar should be out there helping to rebuild, to return people's bending. Asami doesn't tell her of the daily visitors—overwhelming, at the beginning, when news was still fresh—to the Air Temple with gifts, presents, cards, flowers and fruit. All are thanked and turned away by a rota of Air Acolytes, and they've kept the presents that won't spoil.

The city still loves the Avatar.

* * *

Perhaps a year after the overthrowing of the regime, Korra receives a visitor to her room. Tenzin steps in gingerly to find her on the veranda, curled up on the cushioned bench watching the garden move with the wind. She turns to him tearfully, dreadfully ashamed that she'll see blame for what happened in the end, and is shocked to see her mentor's eyes simply full of tears, love and pride. She pretends to cough, and it turns quickly into a flood of tears.

This time, they're not coming from a place of misery. They feel cleansing, and healing, and good.

She holds onto Tenzin as if she's drowning, and finally anchors herself to the real world. Korra's determined to live in a way that she hasn't been for longer than she can remember.

* * *

After that, they cautiously try more visitors, careful not to overload her still delicate recovery. The children—not so much children anymore—visit her for half an hour daily, bringing her flowers. They decorate her room, chatter to her about their studies and their lives, and hang cheerily off her arms. Tenzin comes to chat to her every few days for longer periods about the city. Lin comes to spar. Asami is nearly always present, now having her own chair set up in the corner where she reads, or sketches, or chats with someone. Pema brings the baby for Korra to gingerly hold.

And long, long after she's become comfortable with everyone else, Korra finally asks for Mako and Bolin.

* * *

They walk into the room almost as strangers, and she's staring at the floor, holding her hands together to keep from scratching at her arms. One sits either side of her, and slowly, giving her time to react, Bolin puts an arm around her shoulder and draws her closely into a warm, affectionate hug. "Korra," he says, and she can hear the love in it.

They're still thin, like she is, and they still bear the scars as she will. Mako is haunted in a way that Bolin is not, but she feels the difference in their dynamic has been changed by all of them having changed. They are not the same people, and that's all right. Their recoveries were probably as painful as her own, and she knows that it's not a simple matter of days, or weeks, or months, or even years.

It will take a lifetime to rebuild, she thinks, holding on tightly onto them and beginning to speak. But it's so, so worthwhile. She can't be who she was, and that is _sad_, intensely so sometimes. She misses living without fear. She misses her carefree life. Maybe… it's time to let go of that and begin moving forwards.

She holds them close, feeling warm and loved and not ashamed.

Whoever Amon was, regardless of his deep personal tragedy, he ruined her. He hurt her so deeply that it took months to understand that it was _not_ her fault; that she didn't, somehow, make him hurt her. It was never a healthy relationship, so perhaps… perhaps this confusion is natural. Perhaps she doesn't need to sort out what her feelings are, but just accept that she did see a brilliant, charismatic leader who was also an abusive, cruel and twisted man. Those two facets could exist at the same time, and he showed both to her.

Korra closes her eyes, and steps outside, really outside, for the first time into the courtyard of Air Temple Island. Each hand is held by a brother, and Asami leads them forward. None of them want to be separated.

The revolution is, at last, over.

* * *

_But this fic is, in fact, still not! I feel like this is a place of natural closure, but people on Tumblr requested things when I finished GTR, and I wrote three drabbles—an AU where Korra becomes pregnant, a section from Amon's point of view and a section from a civilian's point of view between 1-2k words each. Debating whether to go ahead and upload those together now and have a grand finish tonight, or update in another three days and finish then… this is up early before I fall asleep altogether!_


	13. DRABBLES

I think these go from in order from depressing-as-hell to sort-of-depressing to sort-of-uplifting. All requests I got on tumblr, written as drabbles rather than chapters.

And then we're well and truly done with GTR! Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed, favourited, story alerted or author alerted. I already have a new story for you, which should be coming Friday… so I might see you then!

* * *

**PREGNANCY**

* * *

The doctor moved clinically over her skin. He was nervous; she could tell. She could understand it, as well. Being Amon's personal physician must be a nerve-wracking job, and she was fairly sure that the man hadn't volunteered for the position.

"Everything seems to be in order," he murmured, sounding as if he was reassuring himself as much as her and Amon, who was present in a corner of the room, keeping a careful eye on proceedings. "Yes, she's pregnant."

"Is there anything else you can inform me?" her husband asked. Korra didn't bother to speak. She wasn't sure that the doctor was allowed to speak directly to her anyway. "Other details?"

"Not really, at this stage… Pregnancy isn't really my area," the man said, with a weak laugh. Nobody else joined in, and the noise petered out awkwardly. "I could contact some particularly good midwives and nurses, if you want; they'd probably know more than I would… not really my area," he repeated, swallowing. Korra leaned back in her chair, trying to conceal her frustrated sigh before it escaped. This… _this_ growing in her had put an end to her real involvement in the growing rebellion; Asami was trying to co-ordinate the various rebel groups, but they were becoming increasingly fragmented. At least two had already split due to arguments over the level of violent protest prominent leaders were willing to use, and nobody was really willing to wait 9 months while the Avatar had their chief enemy's child.

She'd cried when she'd realised, after days of trying to pretend that it wasn't happening. This was a reality, a bitter, bitter reality, and she had to deal with it. There was no way to get rid of this thing—if she had wanted to, which she couldn't decide, she was so _confused _about this—under Amon's watchful eye, and her new attendants. It must be a propaganda victory, she thought hollowly. She'd heard the speech that Amon had made through the speakers inside the house. The exact words were a little bit fuzzy, but she seemed to remember _a symbol of their unity; the literal fruit of their union, an example for the city; hoping to be a doting father._

It was impossible to avoid shivering at the thought of Amon as a father, and the doctor looked up at her questioningly, lifting whatever he was poking her with off her skin. "Is it too cold?" he asked, eyes bug wide, looking nothing more like an insect, some creature. She was being unkind, but she thought that she'd earned unkindness. If she had a child, how was she ever supposed to get out of this—if she had a child, how could she leave them _behind_—if she had a child, how… how could she love it, them, it, if they, it, looked like him? If his eyes looked out at her in that child's face, how could she bear to look at it?

She ignored the doctor's question, and he carried on prodding regardless. She hadn't been listening when he'd said what he was doing, and she had no idea what was going on. Maybe he hadn't actually said what he was doing. Keeping her own body a secret from her sounded an awful lot like Amon. Maybe she'd die in childbirth. That would be a tragic end to her.

The commands slipped in one ear and out the other as she sank further and further into despair, and Amon gave up words and simply grabbed her by the arm to propel her out. "Do not embarrass me like that in front of other people," he hissed in her ear. Korra just tried not to shudder. _Don't show your fear. He likes the fear_. "We're having a _child_; you could at least be _civil_ around other people." Well, that was laughable, but she wasn't going to be laughing any time soon. "I'll be naming them. No Water Tribe names, but if your behaviour improves then perhaps I'll allow you some input." She didn't bother to respond.

* * *

Pregnancy bothered her. She hadn't had a period in a while in between stress and starvation, and this was… worse. She didn't want to be pregnant; she really didn't want to be pregnant with _his _stinking child—though it wasn't its fault, she guessed; she still oscillated between loathing and simple reluctance—and she hated what it did to her. She especially hated all the attendants fluttering around, paying an obscene amount of attention to her. They went to offensive lengths to ensure that nothing upset her—"bad for the baby, mistress, bad for the baby!"—and as a result everything upset her. They never left her alone; she couldn't even have a proper cry in private without someone flapping about and telling her to stop.

A painful amount of her time was spent in an indifferent stupor, switching between fits of anger and crying. When she was feeling rational she knew that it wasn't really their fault, but she couldn't bring herself to care.

* * *

Childbirth nearly ended her. She nearly gave up then and there, decided not to try any more—_let go and give up,_ she thought, her face tear-stained from the extraordinary pain. _I don't want this anyway. This wasn't something I chose. _They knew that she was giving up. She never figured out how. Perhaps she said it, delirious in the middle; the line between what she was saying and what she was thinking blurred in the painkillers that they'd given her and the sky swept up into the ground, though she wasn't sure about that last one.

Asami held her hand. Korra wasn't sure when she had arrived, but she was there, and she was crying, and the fog cleared a little enough to realise that she was _eighteen_—she'd missed her birthday but she knew that it must have passed at some point in captivity—and she'd barely lived yet. There was all life to live yet. There must be a time after Amon, a good life, a life worth living—

"Hold on, Korra," someone said, and it reverberated around her head, refusing to leave. It echoed until she shrieked for it to stop, and she sank back into that stupor—

* * *

When they put her child into her arms, she stared dully at it. So small. Had she ever been this small? She must have been.

She didn't know how to hold a baby. She was terrified that she'd drop it and break it. For all the months that she'd carried this thing, she didn't know it. At no moment had she wanted this thing, and now it was here and she was sure that she was supposed to have a duty of care to it. She sat there woodenly, staring, until it began to cry, opening its mouth to shriek at a level of noise that she would have never expected was actually possible. Someone took it away, and she looked dully down at the cradle her arms made, bereft. They felt cold. This thing was… a person, something that would grow up to be someone, a defenceless child with _Amon_ for a father, and Korra felt the tiniest stirring of something protective. She was fighting to overcome Amon—she could fight him through the littlest things, through that tiny baby, that baby who wasn't at fault here, but she still wasn't sure that she could bear to take care of it.

"Do I get to see it again?" she asked, her voice a quiet croak, and she received only a contemptuous look. "Tell me," she said, louder, more authoritatively. "Do I? When?"

"_It's_ a _she_," the nurse sniped, and walked off. Korra sat there staring at her hands, unable to articulate the terror she felt at really acknowledging that it was a little human being, an unformed one yet, but a little tiny human being that had come out of _her_, had come from _her_ and _him_, when she hated him so much and couldn't get away from him, what that little thing would _mean_, "a symbol of their unity" as he'd said—the fact that it made it all real, but she knew it was real, but that it made it _realer_, and that hurt, and she couldn't reconcile that with her own mother and how intensely she knew her parents loved her, the people she knew without parents at all who grieved and raged, Asami with her father who had turned out to be a man so full of rage that he fuelled terrorists, how easy it was to mess up a child and how sure she was sure that she _couldn't_ be a good mother or wouldn't be allowed to anyway, how at this point she could barely bring herself to feel anything on most days but she knew that she should be feeling something for that little thing that was so alone in this world.

"She," Korra repeated emptily, and five days later when she tried to kill herself she thought of the little thing. _She_. _It's a she. _

* * *

"Postnatal depression," the doctor assured Amon nervously, wringing his hands. Korra stared at him through a curtain of her own hair, leaning listlessly against the wall. "Totally normal. Quite common, actually. Not really a lot you can do; perhaps let her see the child, under supervision of course—I'll suggest some… things, medicines that she could take, not here, though—some exercise, perhaps, and don't let her be alone."

Korra nearly laughed. She was always alone. She closed her eyes. Soon they'd let her see… it. Her. _It's a she_. The… baby. Her baby. Their baby, but mainly hers, because if she could do nothing else then she'd try and make sure that that little thing had some love in its life. In her life.

"Good," Amon said, turning to her. "I intend to be an active parent, so I suppose we'll be spending more time together in the future."

* * *

Depression doesn't get easier, but he lets her be present at important times. The first birthday is passed with Korra there. She spends days holding onto the baby and wondering how it's possible that something can simultaneously terrify and draw her in so strongly. She watches the baby grow into a toddler, speaking words and throwing things and tantrums. She watches when Amon nearly hits her baby, almost casually, and tells her that he'd never hit a child. She wonders powerfully what his upbringing was like, that he has such odd compunctions about never hitting a child but is quite content to leave the threat there, only withdrawing the physicality of the threat.

He allows their daughter to wear her hair in a traditional Water Tribe style—_her old style_, she thinks, tugging at the simple ponytail he allows her—and when he does it himself one day she wonders, she wonders, she wonders.

Korra's not a good mother, but with a father like Amon, somebody has to show some affection. The lines of love are difficult and blurred by this point, strained between public and private and all things in between, but when she thinks clinically, she suspects that she might love this child despite everything, just because they're all alone in enemy territory.

And because simply, Korra can't let another human being grow up so unloved and so miserable, right in front of her.

* * *

**AMON **

* * *

If only she wouldn't make him angry, that burning anger that lodged inside his chest would subside and disappear. If she didn't know every single way to push past his guard and strike at his very centre. "I can be good to you," he had said, and he would have honoured that. He wasn't an unreasonable man, but she refused to understand that. He was never unreasonable until people pushed him far, and then he was fair and exact.

He saw the mutiny burning in her, and found himself perversely attracted to it, but it made him so _angry_. Perhaps, as tragic as it was, they were simply not suited to each other and this was affecting him personally. That was something that he couldn't afford in the difficult political climate. Above all, he was a political leader, and an obsession couldn't be allowed to undo the years, decades, the _lifetime_ that he had put into this objective.

Sadly, he lifted a strand of her hair and dropped it, sighing. She had fallen asleep—she was unable to fool him with her charming pretences—which was unusual. Most nights he knew that she remained awake long after he drifted off. It seemed that she had difficulties with her sleeping pattern. Perhaps he should notify a doctor and have some sort of remedy put into her food, but that might pose significant health dangers with the routine he had established for her feeding. It was to be irregular; he knew the advantages to keeping an enemy uncomfortable, reliant on outside sources for basic goods. It bothered him a little to have to have to use such infantile methods on his own wife, but until the point where she was trustworthy—some distance off at this point—it was necessary.

Korra was sweet when asleep, he had to admit. All that tiresome fight went out of her, all the hatred dissolved and it was rather pleasant. Perhaps this was what having a wife should be like; quiet moments together. Preferably the spouse should be conscious, but he wasn't going to quibble over small things. Larger issues, though… he wasn't quite satisfied for tonight, but it was tedious when she cried too much. If only she'd simply _behave_… The riots had taken up too much of his time recently, he'd not been with her as much as he would have liked, and his absence allowed backwards behaviour to flourish. She wasn't a _dog_, he shouldn't have to _train_ her—but she was young, he supposed. Well, he'd been rebellious at that age, but that had, after all, been after someone who had pushed him too far. There were to be no excuses.

Perhaps if she'd smile he'd be less angry more often. If she made his rooms pleasant to come back to, they could have civilised conversation, the give and a take that he considered to be the standard procedure for relationships. Was she expecting him to make the first move? He wouldn't have thought that she was that traditional, but maybe he should take some steps in showing her that he would rather that she was pleasant company—setting up a charity for her to run, establishing a group of girls her own age to talk to, even some little administrative details that weren't too taxing. He was dubious about how reliable she'd be in public, however; she hadn't shown herself to be trustworthy. It was disappointing to have to keep her in check through threatening her acquaintances, but he needed a reliable method to ensure her good behaviour. She didn't quite understand the dynamic that she was expected to uphold.

He was tired of his own thoughts, bored and wide awake with hours to go until he was needed (though he liked to show up early, too early and it was simply inconvenient for the workers). Paperwork, he had covered before retiring to bed, and he was restless besides. Well, it was a sorry business to wake her from her rare slumber, but it was necessary. He shook her. Groaning, flailing, she rose out of sleep to meet his eyes, shining through the darkness of the windowless room and reflecting herself back. He wasn't ashamed that the fear that greeted him was stirring. Hadn't he been raised on fear and the inflicting of it?

"What do you want?" she asked, slurring slightly in her sleepiness.

"You know what I want," he said smoothly. Her eyes widened, and she propped herself up on one elbow, preparing to skitter away. He reached out and locked one hand around her bicep; she had a bad record of falling and hurting herself. It was endearing, but if he ever wanted her to appear in public he couldn't have bruises showing. Korra had never struck him as a clumsy girl—she moved with too much certainty—but when they were alone, she tripped over her own feet constantly. He rather liked it.

"I," she began, eyes flicking around the room, "but—already tonight, already—"

"Korra," he said, casually but sternly, and she went silently immediately. Well, however disobedient she was in other aspects, he could always rely on submission in the bed—or wherever else took his fancy. It did pain him somewhat to see her so pale, though. If she wouldn't _struggle_ so… but she was learning, indeed, as her instantaneous hush evidenced. "Good girl," he added, making sure to reinforce positive behaviour. He was sure that was supposed to be helpful.

She was a necessary evil, to a point. He was sure that if she died it would distract him—would haunt him perhaps, he liked that phrasing—and he wasn't willing to have his work compromised by an unfortunate obsession. It was a much better solution to have her slightly distracting him, back safely in these rooms, than thinking about what could have been and obsessing about possibilities. This whole situation was rather unfortunate, but he could at least damage control it.

Everything she did fascinated him, when it wasn't making him furiously angry. He stroked the side of her face, felt her shudder, and shuddered in turn. It was visceral, thrilling—he never felt more alive than here, exhilarating, stirring, moving—

_If only every moment could be this_, he thought, nearly passionately.

But underneath it all, he couldn't help but feel the tiniest twinge of discomfort. He caught that look in her eyes. That look that she thought that he didn't see. The look that he knew was aimed at his back as he left a room, turned around, moved his gaze onto something else—not fear or submission or despair. Anger.

Every so often, he caught anger in her, and that… it was nothing, _nothing_, she was nothing but what he let her be, but that anger… Sometimes he wondered if just as his anger consumed him, her fury grew too, but she was hiding it, hiding it behind that fear—he liked the fear—and it was all that much more insidious because she could hide it. It was ridiculous, of course. She was a spoil of war, a prize that he'd kept for himself with some political gain to be had—she was a _child_, she could barely think for herself—

All the same, it tugged at him. He knew the results when children were pushed one step too far.

* * *

**CIVILIANS**

* * *

The streets moved. Word of mouth flitted from person to person, and Jin watched it move too doubtful to shift. She had heard the tales, of course. The Dragon Flats were rife with gossip. Especially this end of them. Gossip wasn't currency but it was something close. Jin wasn't getting involved in rebellions. Her mam was an earthbender, and Jin was one too. She didn't fancy her chances earthbending. Never taught properly. Never had the money.

She had wondered if she should join the Equalists because the benders, the rich ones who could afford training and protection, had never done anything for her but when the masked man started taking away people's bending she'd slipped away from the rally. It wasn't worth it. She'd wondered if she should join the other people, the rebellion, the counter-revolution or whatever they were calling themselves. Some boys from her neighbourhood had joined.

"Go and get themselves bloody killed," her mam had said, and Jin had argued though, really, she agreed. That wasn't worth it either. The people in power never even really came down this far. Didn't get their feet dirty. Her mam said that once Avatar Aang had come down, when he were alive, and he'd given out sweets to the kids and been nice—her grandma had told her—but he had to keep balance and he'd gone other places and the Flats had become a bad place.

Then this bloody registration thing had come around, and Jin had thought about that, peering down from the roof. She hadn't put herself down as an earthbender. Well, she wasn't, really. No training. She was sure that you had to do more to be one. Move things proper. Shift big rocks. Nobody did that down the streets of the Dragon Flats, for fear of taking out the pipes. They barely had electricity as it was. Anyone took out the water pipes and there'd be a riot.

She watched _the_ riots, and she watched the Equalists pour in, from her roof. Lying on her stomach like, so they couldn't see her. Only her head over the edge so she got a proper view. The man who helped the masked man was there, with his sticks that made electricity, and her mouth hung open as he shocked people. The smell as people let go when they were afraid, losing consciousness, was awful. She hid when she thought that he might have seen her. When the masked man himself arrived, she stopped watching, and she went inside.

Her mam looked up from kneading dough for tomorrow. Jin watched her hands move, comforting and homey, red-knuckled and coarse and as familiar to her as their tiny rooms. "Going out," she mumbled, pulling up her hood and slipping on her outdoor shoes. "Not be long."

"Don't you be," her mam retorted, "I went to the effort of bread and all, and you go off through the streets when there's rioting? Don't be daft, and get back inside." Jin ignored her, and hunched into her jacket. There were holes and the like. They must have been there for years, but she felt the wind whistling through them almost painfully.

"Not be long," she repeated, staring at the floor, and dashing out. The door slammed behind to her to her mam's irritated cry, and she was hopping over bodies in the street. Frightened, she poked at one. Not dead. She knew some of them. Silly boys. Not dead, though. But silly boys hungry for honour, because you didn't get that in the Dragon Flats. All the people up above, she knew that they'd been taken out and their bending taken away, but it seemed to her that they had an all right deal. After this—because Jin had no doubt that regimes fell and rulers disappeared but the common people stayed the same—those people would go back to their lives in their big houses, maybe a bit sad but not much worse off. She kicked irritably at a rock. It flew all the way down the narrow street to lodge in a wall ahead. She was stuck here, though. You didn't get out of the Dragon Flats.

Quietly, she slipped into the building, and rapped the pattern that her neighbour's cousin's friend's nephew had told her. "Here for the meeting?" a cheery man asked, and she nodded gruffly. "First time?" She nodded again. "Local?" For the third time, she nodded, reluctant to engage in conversation. She didn't want to be memorable, in case this all went wrong. "Thought so. Dragon Flats all over you," he said, confidentially, "I'm a Flats boy myself. This, this counter-revolution stuff, it's a good chance to prove yourself. Get out. Change things a bit, I think. Shake em up, show em we're people." She nodded again, more thoughtfully. Followed his directions through to a room, and sat down by herself.

The council was full of rich people, she knew. People in high places, politicians or the like. Folks who had no idea what the Flats were like. She knew that they had more people packed into the same amount of space than any other area in the city. Some folks had an island. The airbender man, he had an island. Some other people lived on it too, but she hated that he had some island and she shared a three room flat with her mam and her dad and her brothers and sisters and sometimes an aunt or a cousin.

But ordinary folk couldn't change that. Ordinary folk didn't change things, it just didn't happen. She'd go to the meeting to shut herself up with her dreams. All those dreams of honour and glory. Just as silly as those stupid boys lying in the street, pissed and shat themselves from fear and looking like they were dead.

* * *

The crowd was like a living being all of itself. It was a strange feeling. Jin felt charged. As if she was directing lightning. The ground shook a little below her feet, and she roared along. Her mam had been evacuated. Taken all their precious things with her. Kissed her baby goodbye as if it was real goodbye, and left for safe places. None of the rioters had been told where. Jin understood why.

She didn't care much for this "take back their city" talk. All that had changed in the Flats for her was the curfew. It was too dangerous to go out after dark anyway. She hadn't noticed much change. Down in the poor people's homes, politics only filtered from above. All the same, the air was charged and she was charged and ready. She knew that some had suffered. Benders on the registry who'd had their bending taken away. Her own wasn't much. She still thought she might miss it if it went. Those people who'd had it taken, then, they must be gutted, lost. It had happened to their neighbour's son.

Maybe Jin was there for them. She didn't think so really. There wasn't any honour properly in her, she'd discovered. Honour and glory got you in the street with piss running down your legs. Jin wanted the future. She'd heard the Avatar, some thin and bruised looking girl—younger than Jin herself!—scream "FREEDOM" at them all, and she'd liked it. _Freedom_ was what everyone was saying. Yes, she liked that.

She wasn't here for any great rebellion. Or for the rights of benders. Not because she was important, either. She wasn't. Not even in charge of anything. Just a foot soldier. Maybe there would always be Dragon Flats. They'd always be the foot soldiers. But maybe they wouldn't. Or maybe there would be Dragon Flats, but not these ones. Being without the Triads would be a start. And then… then.

No, she wasn't here for any noble cause, and she'd been sceptical from the start. If she died, that would be proper annoying because she was no devotee, not too excited about this. She wasn't chomping at the bit to strike down their oppressors. But she figured that maybe she could do some things. Help a bit.

Get little children with no money some earthbending lessons, maybe, and move regimes with pebbles.


End file.
